Phantom Infinite Loops
by Purrs
Summary: Christine thought she was dying. She was. Fortunately, the multiverse crashed and sent her back to the beginning. Baseline Loops are ALW. Infinite Time Loops, rated T to be safe, I own nothing. (Gustave would also be listed but apparently he isn't listable.)
1. Loops 1

**The Rules of the Loops:**

**One person in a Loop, often the main character, is an Anchor. They are the person who first starts time looping.**

**There is always at least one Anchor present in a given Time Loop snippet, though it may not be the local** **one.**

**The standard pattern for a Loop is that the Anchor (and whoever else is Looping there) come to awareness in a Loop at a particular point in the story. From there, events will play out as influenced by the Loopers present, acting with the benefit of their foreknowledge, until either a predetermined end point is reached or the Anchor has copped it.**

**To be Awake is to be aware of the Time Loops (that is, to have gone back in time this time.)**

**The Anchor is the only character guaranteed to be Awake. Even after others have started Looping, it is mostly random as to whether they will be Awake this particular Loop.**

**Crossovers, fusions, and alternate pasts can also take place. It is perfectly possible, for example, to have the characters Awaken into a Loop which conforms to a fanfic universe rather than reality.**

**Loops do not have to be in chronological order, but it is strongly preferred that they not require a mutually contradictory order (where A must be before B and B must be before A)**

**Just about every Looper is very, very stir crazy.**

* * *

_"Herstory repeats itself."_**  
**

* * *

1.1

"Kiss me one last time…" Christine murmured, each word a burst of pain. The world was fading around her. Even the Phantom's face was growing fuzzy. The Phantom. Her Angel of Music. The Opera Ghost. Mr. Y. Aliases, all of them. She was struck by the sudden, powerful urge to know his name. She would never have another chance to ask. Another painful breath rattled into her lungs in preparation for speech. Her lips began to move. And then...and then the darkness claimed her.

.

"Christine Daaé can sing it, sir."

She was standing. Why was she standing? She didn't remember getting up. Besides, she had been in no condition to stand. She still wasn't, right? Christine looked herself over. There didn't seem to be blood anymore, and her scant clothing showed enough skin that her wound had undeniably vanished. The costume nagged at her memory, but that wasn't important right now. What was going on? What had happened? Shouldn't she be dead? This was by no means heaven, nor hell for that matter. She knew what she had learned in church, and this was not it.

"Let her sing for you, Monsieur. She has been well taught."

Wait, were they talking about her? She looked up - they were indeed looking at her. Madame Giry. Andre. Firmin. Her wide-eyed gaze absorbed the rest of the scene. Meg, in the same immodest outfit as herself, smiling at her. Of all people, why was _Meg_ smiling at her? With what had just happened... And over there was Joseph Buquet, returning to his post. Buquet, who had died more than ten years ago.

"From the beginning of the aria then, please, mademoiselle," monsieur Reyer prompted. He led his orchestra - his orchestra, in the Opera Populaire - the building that had burned to the ground, she _knew_ it had - in the introduction to a song she knew very well.

Christine couldn't begin to comprehend what was going on. She fainted.

.

Christine returned to consciousness in her own bed, Meg's face practically filling her field of vision.

"Are you all right, Christine?" The girl wrung her hands.

"I...I don't know." She looked away. "I'd like to be alone, if you wouldn't mind."

"You're sure? You don't want anything?"

"Just go away. Please."

"Okay. I'll see you later, then." Meg flashed her a worried smile and left, closing the door behind her.

The tears were just beginning to streak down her face when _his_ voice echoed about the room. "You could have sung tonight. You had the opportunity," he mourned. "It would have been far superior to whatever our new managers will scrounge together for tonight, if they even can."

Her eyes were still threatening to overflow, but the stream was quelled. Slowly, she ventured to turn her head in the direction of the mirror, and regarded it in empty silence.

"Christine?"

"Who are you?" she managed.

"What do you mean?"

She pushed off the blankets. "Do you remember what happened? No one else does."

"What are you talking about?"

Christine stood up with a sigh and began taking slow, measured strides. "You're the Phantom. You live by a lake, with an organ and a swan bed and a figure of me in a wedding dress. You're writing an opera called _Don Juan Triomphant_, and you want me to play Aminta. You wear a mask, and you love me. Was any of that wrong?" By now she was standing directly before the mirror. She could make out his face, and his expression was one of pure shock.

"How did you learn all this?"

She slid open the mirror and tore off his mask with nary a flinch. "I think I've been given a second chance," she replied. He instinctively turned from her, but she moved his head to face hers again. "What's your name?"

The Phantom stared at her. "Of all things, that's what you don't know?"

"Apparently so."

He shook his head slowly, disbelievingly. "I am Erik."

"Erik." Christine tasted the name. "I like that. I like you." She walked back and collapsed on her bed. "What do you think would happen if I stopped singing?" she wondered aloud.

"Why would you possibly do that?"

"I don't know." A million melodies flew through her mind, each familiar tune bearing bittersweet memories, and she winced. "I'd just rather not."

"They'll eject you from the Opera," he protested.

"If that happens, I'll just live with you by the lake."

His breath caught. "Would you?"

"Of course." She toyed with the mask still in her hands.

"I would like that back," Erik ventured.

"Come over here and take it from me, then," she said.

He complied, but she caught his arm as he pulled away and made him sit beside her. "What are you -" he began, but she kissed him before he could finish.

.

"Mother, come and listen, come and listen!" Gustave insisted, tugging on her arm.

With a smile, Christine allowed her son to lead her along the candlelit shore. "What have you written this time?"

"You'll see!" the ten-year-old pronounced, sitting down at the organ. Ten years old...

A prickle ran up her spine, and it wasn't because of the haunting notes now resonating around the cavern. She had too many memories, that was the problem. More than a person her age had any right to. Every time she thought she had overcome them, something reminded her of something that had never happened. There were happy recollections and sad recollections, but she could never quite let them go. Her life now was always relentlessly compared to the other one. She could still hear Carlotta's croaking, still smell the salty breeze of Coney Island, still feel Raoul's arms around her as vividly as if they were real -

"Hello, Christine," a voice murmured in her ear.

Well, that explained it. They weren't _Raoul's_ arms. "Hello, Erik." She leaned into him and hummed appreciatively. "I love you, dear, did you know that?"

He chuckled. "I'm fairly sure you've said that before, yes. Do you think you might sing today?"

"Perhaps tomorrow." She gave him a wry grin.

"Tomorrow, then." The kiss that followed was interrupted by a discordant note, and Erik broke off to sit by his son. "Gustave, that's not working. Have you tried..."

Christine sighed contentedly as intricate strains began filling her heart as well as the cavern. She would never grow tired of this. Note after beautiful note drifted into the air -

And then the music vanished.

* * *

1.2

"Christine Daaé can sing it, sir," Madame Giry offered.

No. No, this wasn't happening. Not again. "I don't think I can, Madame. I'm sorry." She strode from the room. What was going on? How could she stop this? She had appreciated not dying, but this was a tad much.

* * *

1.3

"Christine Daaé can sing -"

"Excuse me a moment." She turned on her heel and left, kicking a set piece on her way out and earning herself a stubbed toe for her trouble.

* * *

1.4

"Christine Daaé can -"

"Shut up!" she cried. "Shut up shut up shut up! 'Christine Daaé can sing it, sir.' Christine Daaé can go to hell, sir!"

"Christine, what's wrong?" Meg asked.

She whirled on the girl. "Everything's wrong! I keep trying and trying and nothing works! Just leave me alone for once, all of you!"

* * *

1.5

"Erik Daaé can sing it, sir."

Collapsing against a post, Christine took several deep breaths. She had needed that, but she didn't think she would be doing it again soon. Spending one reprise with everyone thinking she had gone insane was enough. She slid her hands up her face and encountered an unexpected texture. Prying off the object, she looked it over and froze. Why was the Phantom's mask on _her_ face? That made absolutely no sense.

"What, a chorus boy? Don't be silly."

"Let him sing it for you, Monsieur. He has been well taught."

She peered down at the scene unfolding below her, centering on a nervous black-haired boy. No, that couldn't possibly be him. She ran through her memories for some sort of explanation - oh. Well, then. That was interesting and bizarre and freaky all at once.

"What the hell?" muttered the woman who was now apparently the Phantom of the Opera.

* * *

1.6

"Christine Daaé can sing it, sir."

Hm, what to do with this reprise? She felt like messing with someone. Erik? Raoul? Why not both? Yes, she was already getting ideas.

"...has been well taught."

Christine nodded. "I think I could, Monsieur." She might as well.

"From the beginning of the aria, then…"

.

Yes, she had missed performing, Christine decided with a smile. Standing on stage and letting her soul fly up to Heaven on wings of song... and, of course, the cheering audience didn't hurt. She was breathing in the aroma of the roses filling her dressing room when the door opened.

"Little Lotte let her mind wander -"

She grinned inwardly, though her bearing was all confusion. "I'm sorry, Monsieur, do I know you?"

Raoul took a step back, hurt. "Christine, it - it's me. Raoul de Chagny. Don't you remember me?"

Comprehension dawned on her face. "Oh, _right_. Now I recognize you. Look, I know we were friends in childhood, but that was _years_ ago." Oh so many, many years ago. "Could you please go? I'm busy."

He glanced over her empty hands and casual pose. "But you don't look -"

"I'm. Busy."

"All right then." He coughed awkwardly and left.

.

"Look at your face in the mirror  
I am there inside."

She walked up to the open mirror and peered in. "That you are. The real question is _why_ you're inside my mirror, isn't it? Up until now you've always made yourself out to be an angel. I quite doubt that angels take the form of masked men who stand behind young women's mirrors."

"I am your Angel of Music," the Phantom told her. He took her hand and attempted to lead her into the passageway.

She resisted. "What are you doing?"

Visibly annoyed, he gave her hand a tug. "Come with your Angel of Music," he insisted.

"Why should I?" He began walking down the dim stone corridor, forcibly pulling her along. "Ugh, fine, I'll come."

.

Christine stared at the mannikin, then at the Phantom, then back at the mannikin. "So first you kidnap me, then you have a model of me in a wedding dress? That is not okay. In fact, you are very disturbing altogether. Would you please let me go now?"

.

Raoul made his way through the twirls and steps of the costumed crowd. "Bonjour, Christine," he greeted. "May I have this dance?"

"Bonjour, monsieur de Chagny. Fancy meeting you here," she replied. "I'm sorry, but you must excuse me." She brushed past him and walked away.

.

Christine rolled her eyes. On the one hand, it was helpful that they were both being so persistent in this reprise, because otherwise she wouldn't have very much opportunity to deny them. On the other hand…

"Stop stalking me!" she called out over the clash of steel on steel. "I can't even visit my father's grave without you bothering me? Leave me alone!"

"You heard her. Leave her be!" the Phantom demanded, feinting before lunging.

Raoul stepped back, parrying Erik's blade and riposting. "She was talking to you!"

She wasn't sure whether to groan or to laugh.

* * *

1.1 - And so it begins.

1.2 - So what will Christine do with this new opportunity?

1.3 - Answer: She will lash out at innocent inanimate objects.

1.4 - Everyone needs a little stress relief sometimes.

1.5 - This happens.

1.6 - Et voila, Christine's first shenanigans.


	2. Loops 2

_"A journey of three-and-a-half thousand miles - more or less - begins with a single offer of money to a debtor."_

* * *

2.1

"Christine Daaé could sing it, sir."

"What, a chorus girl? Don't be silly."

"She has been taking lessons from a great teacher."

"Who?" Andre asked, but no one was there to reply.

.

It was ridiculous how many passages, trapdoors, and concealed entrances were in the Opera Populaire and ridiculously easy to find the nearest one. In a short time Christine was expertly navigating the stone corridors. She was thankful now for the time spent as Erik's Angel, as she wouldn't have stood a chance in here before that. Fortunately, the boat was here, but unfortunately, that meant that Erik wasn't here. Sitting on the stone floor, she contented herself to wait until he returned.

She didn't have to wait long to hear footsteps. "I'm here, my Angel. Could you take us across, please? I'd like to talk."

Stunned, he was silent for a moment. "...Yes, of course."

She stepped in after them, and the 'Angel of Music' began poling them along. "How did you know?"

"I," she hesitated, "I want to tell you about something. That would be part of it, Erik."

He had been looking ahead as he poled the boat along, but now his head whipped down to meet her gaze. "You know my name?"

She smiled. "I do."

When the boat landed on the candlelit shore, Christine stepped out and took a few steps toward the piano, then turned back to him. "Erik, I'm trapped in time. I died once, and ever since then I keep coming back to today and reliving the time between. This is my twelfth reprise, Erik. I've lived over a century this way."

He frowned. "Is that so?"

Yes, and she knew how to prove it. "I know the songs you've written, the songs you're writing." She flew to the piano and played the opening chords of Past the Point of No Return. "Go on, sing." She grinned at him.

He followed her. "I don't know that."

"Right, right. You only just started... Forgive me, I can't sing quite as low as you and it begins with Don Juan..." Her voice caught up to the music.

"Past all thought of if or when  
No use resisting  
Abandon thought and let the dream descend  
What raging fire shall flood the soul  
What rich desire unlock its door  
What sweet seduction lies before us..." She trailed off, smiling at him.

He nodded slowly. "That does sound like something I would write; besides which, I've never known you to compose. Yet - I'm not quite convinced -"

"I found my way here, didn't I? And I know you, Erik. I know what lies under your mask. I know about the Devil's Child." He flinched. "I know that you love me, Erik. I know that I love you too."

"You...do?" The hope in his gaze nearly melted her heart, but she continued regardless.

"I always have. But..." She shook her head. "I can't... I came here to talk to you, just that. At least right now. I need to talk to someone, that's all, please."

He sat down beside her on the bench, bright eyes dimming somewhat but resolute nonetheless. "So talk."

.

"And now?" Erik asked.

Christine sighed. "How can you talk of now? Now is the past, yet it isn't. In a little over ten years' time it will be now again, yet a different version of it. Yet only different by my choices, otherwise the same. And you will have forgotten - no, you'll never have known - and nothing I do now will have any effect on what happens then. By some point in my first reprise, I had decided I had been given a chance to live a better life, but that certainly isn't the point of this. But what is the point of this? What do I do? Does it even matter at all what I do?"

"What is the point of life?" Erik replied. "Why would many lives have any more point than one? One could call you lucky. Most people only get one chance, but you have as many as you want."

"No, more than I want. Too many. I wish I could have -"

"Just think of it. You can share ten loves, ten lifetimes with me. A hundred. You can learn to do so much more than anyone else would have the time to. Now," he smiled, the hopeful glimmers returning to his eyes, "you mentioned something we did beneath a moonless sky?"

She looked away. "But Raoul..."

"Became a gambler and a drunkard, then left you. Isn't that what you said?"

"He was. Will be. Might be. He isn't now. He isn't always."

He laughed. "I'm not quite the most impartial man to ask about him, now am I?"

"I suppose not." She smiled briefly, and met his eyes as it fell away. "Yet...do you know how I could convince you to stay away?" At his expression, she rushed to reassure him. "No, not this time. Not now. Not after everything I've told you. I just...I spent a decade with you, happily, and I'd like to at least try to do the same with him. But you're always so insistent - and he was so haunted by what happened - if I want to try that, I'll have to dissuade you first. Not that I don't want to be with you - but if you want to come before him, shouldn't you at least give him the chance? Maybe?" She smiled weakly, then shook it off. "No, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have - that was cruel of me. Forget I asked anything." She stood up. "Now, should we let our new managers refund the whole house, or...?"

"Are you volunteering?"

"I - don't think so. I don't want to sing. Not this time."

"Are you sure?"

She nodded. "Would Meg be up to it, you think? She's good enough to be the star of a different show - at least she will be."

"Perhaps, but not if she would start today. She doesn't know the music." He shook his head. "Let's just leave them to their attempts to win Carlotta over, shall we?"

"Sounds like a plan."

* * *

2.2

"I am your Angel of Music  
Come to me, Angel of Music..."

She stepped through the mirror, but Erik wasn't there. But he had just been singing, hadn't he? From right there? She was sure of it.

Glancing around uncertainly, her eyes fell on a flower growing out of the rock beneath her feet. Why was there a flower?

She noted that half its petals were wilted while the others were in full bloom, and suddenly, it dawned on her. She groaned.

It was the Plantom of the Opera.

* * *

2.3

Christine didn't like making these choices, knowing what they led to - but she wanted to know more of what happened, and as far as she knew there was only one way.

And so she found herself retracing her steps for a decade as close as she could, for the reward of now stepping from the pattern. She followed Erik, making sure to stay hidden. Why was he going to the bar - oh no. Raoul. She watched their confrontation until she felt she had to step in.

"Look at you, deep in debt,  
Stinking drunk, pitiful.  
Shall we two make a bet?  
Devil take the hindmost," Erik sneered.

Raoul was quick to respond.

"Look at you, foul as sin,  
Hideous, horrible.  
Call the stakes, deal me in.  
Devil take the hindmost."

"Our Christine shall choose tonight."

"Let her choose."

"Is she yours or mine?"

"Draw the line."

"If she sings, you lose tonight."

"I won't lose."

"You leave from here."

"Fine."

"Disappear."

"Fine."

"And if she won't, if I win?"

"All your debt's wiped away."

"Very well, let's begin."

"Devil take the hindmost."

Christine stepped out of the shadows, glaring at the both of them.

"Look at you, behind my back  
Making my decisions yours.  
You'd find it wise to change your tack.  
Devil take the hindmost."

They stared at her in shock and horror as she continued.

"Just look at you, in the dark.  
'Will she stay, or leave these shores?'  
I've half a mind to leave this park;  
To me you're both the hindmost," Christine spat. Spinning on her heel, she stalked out of the bar. She didn't have a particular destination in mind, but if she ran into either of them again tonight she couldn't be held accountable for her actions. Even with her conflicted interests, they had no right to - to treat her as property, like she was a prize to be won in that ridiculous game they had tried to start. At least now she knew why Raoul had left, why he had tried so hard to persuade her from performing.

She didn't know if knowing this was better or worse than not knowing had been.

* * *

2.4

"Christine Daaé can sing it, sir."

"I can't. Excuse me, I have to go." She strode out and up to her room, grabbing a candlestick along the way. Perhaps the woman she had been before all of this wouldn't have done this. But Christine wasn't quite the same anymore, and being the Phantom had taught her two things:

Candlesticks were convenient, and smashing mirrors was surprisingly cathartic.

* * *

2.1 - Erik is disappointed.

2.2 - Christine sees no reason for puns.

2.3 - Well, she was bound to find out sometime.

2.4 - Breaking stuff is fun!


	3. Loops 3

_"Better to have loved and lost and regained and lost forever and regained again and now it's complicated than never to have loved at all."_

_"Um."_

_"What?"_

* * *

3.1

Christine was dead, oh God, she was dead, Meg shot her and now she was dead -

.

He had left Christine, left her with _him_, oh God, why had she sung -

.

Erik blinked away tears. A voice was coming from below him: "Christine Daaé can sing it, sir."

Christine, singing? If only. The speaker was Antoinette Giry. She had been there, by the pier, when... why hadn't she come back with help? It might have been too late, but...she didn't sound at all concerned. How heartless could she be?

And then he finally noticed his surroundings. The stage. The fallen prop. The knife in his hand. The people below him - Andre, Firmin, the Girys, the chorus. Christine.

"Think of me  
Think of me fondly  
When we said goodbye..."

Her voice, full and beautiful. More experienced, somehow.

Oh god, Christine.

He didn't care what had happened; all that mattered was that Christine was alive and well. He avoided Buquet as the man returned to his post, and the tears now springing to his eyes were joyful ones.

.

Raoul gazed mournfully out the carriage window, wishing he could have done more somehow. Some way. The cobblestone road was a familiar one; he hadn't expected to become this used to the city in the time he had spent here. Through the chatter of the crowd, select words in French drifted to his ears.

French? No English? They had changed at some point and he hadn't noticed. "Stop the carriage," he ordered.

He stepped out, looking around at the streets of Paris. What the hell was going on? Even if carriages had been able to somehow drive on water, the trip couldn't take mere minutes. It was impossible! A building caught his eye, and he took a step back. The Opera Populaire. What, had he fallen asleep? Was he dreaming? This couldn't be real. The Populaire burned down over ten years ago. When all - _that_ \- happened.

Raoul began walking over; if this was a dream, he could at least enjoy it.

He slipped through the door to hear singing - Christine's singing.

"but please promise me  
That sometimes  
You will think  
Ahhhhhhh - oh!"

Raoul had caught her in a tight embrace, and if she stiffened at his touch, he didn't notice. "Oh, how I missed you," he murmured. Even though it had been less than an hour, just thinking about the life ahead of him - alone, without her - and even if it was only a dream, it was better than nothing.

As the rest of the cast looked on in bewilderment, Christine smiled at him; yet her eyes were wary. "It has been years, hasn't it? I'm just glad you recognized me after all that time, even if it took you a while." She pried him off her, but kept his hand in hers. "Raoul and I were friends in our youth," she offered by way of explanation.

"Raoul," Erik muttered, eyes blazing at the pair. "Damn that man."

.

The day was spent in practice that Christine didn't need but kept her busy regardless, leading up to the gala that night. The soonest time she had to even begin to wonder about Raoul was in her room, after Meg left. Yet even that was interrupted. Simultaneously, in fact.

"Christine, you were amazing tonight. We should -" as the door opened.

"Christine, come to the mirror. I -" as a silhouette began to form behind said mirror.

Both voices froze, then spoke another word in unison, dripping with venom. "You."

She laughed uncertainly. "Raoul, you can hear my Angel?"

"That's no angel, Christine, but a demon," he spat.

She blinked. "What makes you think that?"

"Oh, come on, Christine, you are part of my dream. You should know this."

"Your dream?" Frostily amused, Erik's voice echoed around the chamber. "Is that really what you think?"

She frowned. "Raoul, what happened just before you...started dreaming? Humor me."

He looked away. "I was leaving you," he muttered. "You didn't care enough to come with me."

"You left her to die," Erik pronounced. "And I stayed with her. I do suppose she was right."

Raoul's eyes narrowed. "This is my dream, monster. You won't be turning it into a nightmare."

Christine couldn't tell whether her tears were joy- or rage-filled, or perhaps a bit of each, but it didn't seem to matter. They were coming regardless.  
Both men, rushing to comfort her, paused first as their hands met on her back, then as she stiffly rose and stepped away.

"You know, this really was the worst time for you two to follow me back. A few decades prior, I wouldn't have known. A few after now, I might have entirely forgiven you for making that bet." She laughed without turning around. "I only found out two times back, however long that is. It was yesterday for you, when it happened for real. It's been a century or two for me - then again, you could say it's been just eleven years. The same eleven years, over and over again." She sighed. "I'm trapped in time, and apparently you are too. Have fun." She strode out of the room.

A few seconds later, she came back in. "This is my room." She shoved them out the door and slammed it behind them.

Raoul glanced at Erik.

"Women."

* * *

3.2

The young woman on the stage hadn't been Christine, and his mind had filled in all the details upon reflection. But he still had questions.

"...Susanne Daaé?" Upon opening the door, Raoul blinked. The magnificent dress had been thrown haphazardly on the floor, and the girl, now decidedly in pants, was slipping on a mulberry waistcoat.

She looked up. "Suzy. You're a Looper?"

"Does that have anything to do with time repeating itself?"

"Yep, you're a Looper. New, though." 'Suzy' groaned. "I ain't experienced, I don't know this stuff too good, why do I have to explain it?"

"Explain what?"

"Ugh. There's this tree...computer...thing? and it has all of the universes ever on it, except not one or two because things went screwy."

"There's more than one?"

"Well, yeah. Anyway, the tree's broken, so the universes are broken, so time's looping while everything gets fixed. There's a ton of words that I forget at the moment, but I'll tell you when I remember 'em. Now. What am I supposed to do next? I think I got an answer to my Ping and I bet if I follow the story I'll find him."

"What?"

"The girl I'm replacing. What does she do now?"

"I...suppose she waits in here for the Phantom."

"Alone?" At his nod, she gave him a friendly shove. "So get out!"

Raoul complied hesitantly, but lingered outside. He didn't really want her alone with _him_.

Hushed voices whispered a hurried conversation, and the door opened again. "I was right, the guy's been replaced. This is Arthur."

He frowned. "And can he explain this better?"

"Maybe?" Arthur shrugged. "What has she already told you?"

"Not much. Something about a tree?"

The man nodded. "First, I'd like to know what happens here. Is there anything to worry about?"

"Nothing I know of, as long as you don't start causing any trouble."

"That's good." He grinned at Suzy. "And I haven't seen any signs of the Will, so we can treat this as a vacation loop, can't we?"

She grinned back. "Sounds like."

"Just keep your mask on," Raoul said.

"Right. So, like Suzy said, there's this tree..."

* * *

3.3

"Are we there yet?"

"We only just left the port. We have an ocean to cross!"

"That's a no?"

"Of course we're not there yet!"

"...Are we there yet, _now_?"

"Non."

"How about now?"

"Non!"

"Are we there yet?"

"For the last time, no! What has gotten into you, Erik? Mon dieu, a minute ago you were sitting there moping!"

"I suppose I wasn't really Awake yet."

"Clearly."

"Regardless, I have an idea as to what we'll do in America."

"Do tell?"

"Well, to start out we'd need a few million dollars."

"Of course we would. Mind thinking of something feasible?"

"In ten years' time we could have the most popular place in the country!"

"Ten years? Ten whole years on this scheme? You must be joking."

"...Are we there yet?"

"Non!"

"You're sure we're not there yet?"

"Don't encourage him, Meg! Merde!"

* * *

3.1 - She's not alone!

Updated 3.2 - Christine was originally replaced by Sen Sixsmyth from the Planesrunner books. Her spot has now been filled by Suzy Turquoise Blue from Keys to the Kingdom, as Planesrunner is in fact not actually Looping and Keys to the Kingdom is.

3.3 - When suggesting an idea, you can do it the reasonable way or the let's-make-this-sound-ridiculous way.


	4. Loops 4

_"All that sings beautifully is not handsome."  
_

_"Hey!"_

* * *

4.1

"Pore Erik's daid  
A candle lights his head"

"He's lookin' oh so purty and so nice  
He looks like he's asleep  
It's a shame that he won't keep  
But it's summer and we're running out of ice  
Pore Erik  
Pore -"

Awaking mid-phrase, the two stared at each other in silence.

"Was...was we jist..." Raoul finally managed.

A nod. Erik's hand was firmly over his bare face. Judging by the new memories, he hadn't been the type to wear a mask.

"And ah was..."

Nod.

"And you was..."

Nod.

"Look, d'you know why we're here 'stead of the Opera? Ah mean, has someone talked to you 'bout it before? Y'weren't Awake when Suzy came."

A frown.

"Ah'll tell you later. We need ta talk 'bout Christine."

Nod.

"...damn, this accent is annoyin'."

Nod.

"That's why you ain't speakin'?"

Nod.

"Smart."

* * *

4.2

"Little Lotte let her mind wander..." He darted an inquiring glance to the mirror, meeting his co-conspirator's gaze. His unspoken question was answered with a nod, and his eyes returned to Christine.

"Little Lotte thought, 'Am I fonder of Raouls or of Phantoms or...?'"

She looked at him flatly. "Little Lotte thought that Raoul has yet to be forgiven."

"That's why I came."

"Hm?"

"To apologize. You were right. I acted as if you were choosing between us, when you didn't even know your 'choice' existed. I left you, without telling you anything beforehand." Raoul sighed. "I'm sorry."

"But," Erik stepped out of the mirror. "When I found him, he had been wallowing in alcohol and self-pity for God knows how long. He was nowhere near his best. Besides which, I made it hard for him to turn down. It was certainly a lot of money I was offering."

"And as for him, he was still pining for you. He had brought you to him, but you were going to leave soon. He found his opportunity and took it."

"But that doesn't excuse what I did. I shouldn't have taken advantage of him - or of you. I shouldn't have said anything about Gustave."

"It looks like we'll have all of eternity together."

"We can't spend all of it mad at each other."

Christine eyed Erik. "What did you say about Gustave? I think I stopped you before that part."

He dropped his gaze. "I may have implied something regarding his parentage."

She sighed. "Of course you did. Now tell me - how long did you two spend working on this?"

"A day or so," he replied, glad for the change of subject.

"More importantly, how long have you been able to stand each other like this?"

Erik grinned at Raoul. Raoul grinned at Erik. To Christine's evident surprise, they linked arms and began square dancing, of all things.

"Oh, the Raoul and the Erik should be friends  
Oh, the Raoul and the Erik should be friends  
One man -"

"I'll stop you there," Christine interrupted. "That is the most disturbing thing I have ever seen."

"You think so, too?" Raoul grinned.

Erik smirked. "You weren't there when a whole town did it."

She stared at him. "What?"

"Don't ask," Raoul told her. "We're still not entirely sure why."

* * *

4.3

Christine watched Erik thoughtfully as he strode slowly past the organ, singing yet again to her about his music. As gratifying as it had been when they apologized, as fascinating as it had been to learn why this was happening, as astonishing as it had been when they managed to finish the Loop without any conflicts (that is, no major conflicts, she corrected. Well, no violent ones. She could say that, at least. Well... only that once.) - she was glad to be alone this time around. She wasn't yet sure what to do with the next eleven years, though.

He had returned to her, extending his hand. As she took it, her eyes lingered on the drafts of music before her, and in a moment of impulse she broke off from the baseline, following him up the steps.

"Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams  
Purge your thoughts of the life you... knew..."

A note was played on the organ, leading Erik to trail off. He frowned momentarily in awkward disappointment, but more notes followed the first and his initial plan was forgotten. Christine began humming curiously (like she didn't already know it by heart) and he found a soft smile to match hers.

Her eyes suddenly met his, and her smile grew sheepish. "A-angel, I'm sorry, you were singing and I shouldn't have - but I was looking at the music, and - did you write this? It's amazing."

"You think so?"

"Oh, yes." She nodded fervently, and her eyes flicked back to the score. "May I?"

"Of course."

Singing along, she picked out the melody, occasionally playing a _whole chord_ at once! That was _such_ a complex thing to play. After all, she only had a few minutes of piano experience in her whole life, hadn't she? She 'hardly noticed' when she reached the end of the score and kept going for a few lines.

"Here the sire serves the dam  
Here the master takes his meat  
Here the sacrificial lamb  
Um."

She frowned.

There was a minute of silence as Erik silently tried out words. "Utters one despairing bleat." He completed the phrase and raised his visible eyebrow at her. "You compose?"

"Oh, no, it was nothing, really," she demurred, feeling guilty. She had quite the advantage here, and she was certainly using it. It wasn't hurting anyone, perhaps, and yet... "What is all this?" She gestured to the scores written and the blank papers on which they soon would be, gestured to pages of neatly-penned notes and pages of scribbled-out stanzas.

"A work in progress; I call it Don Juan Triumphant." He found a pen, sat beside her, leaned forward, glanced at her, smiled. "Would you like to help?"

.

As she rose from the bench, Christine tried and failed to stifle a yawn. She chuckled, seeing Erik asleep. His bare cheek was pressed against the keys; she wasn't sure how late they had stayed up, but it must have been morning by now. It was, however, impossible to tell the time of day in this underground lair. She crept past the wedding doll to the swan bed and brought a blanket back with her. After draping it over him, she reached - slowly, slowly - for his mask. There was every reason to wonder what lay underneath, and this might avoid both rage on his part and fear - or the pretense of it - on hers. She pulled it off as delicately as if it was made of paper-thin glass and returned to 'her' bed with all the silence of an expert Opera Ghostette. Erik's mask hanging from a bronze wingtip, Erik's love snuggled deep into the now-coverless plush, Christine let herself fall asleep.

.

Shaken out of her slumber, she gazed blearily up at the man in the mask. "Mnuh?" she said intelligently.

"I hope you're happy."

"Mnuh." She yawned, stretched, and blinked a few times, then gave a start. "...Oh. You were - your face. I'm sorry, did I over- oh, of course I did. You're wearing a _mask_, of course I shouldn't have - What happened? How long until it heals?"

"It won't," he replied curtly.

"It... God, I'm so sorry."

He gave what he clearly intended to be a glare, but it arrived with much more sadness than anger. "Don't do it again."

She nodded slowly. "I'm sorry," she repeated.

He looked away. "I don't want your pity."

She didn't. "You live in a _cave, _for God's sake. Is it because of your..."

He said nothing for a minute or so. Finally, he glanced at the ceiling. "Perhaps you should go. They will certainly be missing you."

"No."

"No?"

"Let them miss me. We're still in the middle of a song." Her smile said if you'd like to, if you're not too upset with me, you're right and I shouldn't have done that, but in any case I don't really mind."

He looked at her in surprise. "Well, if you're this eager." His eyes said are you serious, you don't want to leave now that you've seen me, this is better than I ever imagined.

The two walked to the piano together, minds filling with music and ideas -

A stomach grumbled. "You know," Christine said thoughtfully, "I don't think I've eaten since before the gala yesterday. Do you have any food?"

* * *

4.1 - Oklahoma! In my opinion, Erik and Jud have a lot in common, except that Erik is a whole lot more sympathetic.

4.2 - Tensions have not necessarily disappeared, but 1) they wanted to talk to her again, and 2) hopefully now they can have full conversations with each other without a single bargain or threat.

4.3 - Might continue this one.


	5. Loops 5

_"A griffin cannot change its feathers."_

* * *

5.1

Christine Awoke with a grin on her face, which she quickly hid. She had to stay in character, after all.

"Christine Daaé could sing it, sir."

"What, a chorus girl? Don't be silly."

"She has been taking lessons from a great teacher."

"Who?"

"Erik, sir. He's the Opera Ghost."

Suddenly surrounded by incredulous stares, she allowed herself an awkward smile and -

Thud.

The noise drew as much attention as her statement had. A few members of the chorus took a few steps toward the man abruptly on the ground, a few away, but all nearly immediately stopped in favor of standing and staring. He got to his feet and glanced around, wide-eyed. Ever so slowly, he began limping toward the ladder. In absolute silence, he ascended, backed away, and slipped out of sight.

Several seconds passed. Christine made a grand gesture in his direction. "Voila," she laughed. "The musically gifted, exceedingly brilliant, socially awkward Phantom of the Opera, caught completely unawares."

* * *

5.2

Erik Awoke examining a drawing of a griffin and feeling somewhat different. Harder, perhaps. Fiercer. Colder - no, colder was the entirely wrong word. He continued studying the sketch, waiting...

His Loop memories kicked in, and he gave a slight start before glancing up at the girl responsible for the paper he held in his hand. "Your name?"

"Kes, lord," a man said. "She doesn't speak much. And yours, lord?"

"Faintume. Erikaitunte Opairaien Faintume." He looked over the girl. "Kes, my... people need someone like you. Will you come with me?"

"Oh, I'm nothing special, really."

"Au contraire." No one spoke French here. He doubted it even _existed_ here. "I think otherwise. Now. Will you come?"

"I don't really think -" a man began.

"This is her decision, not yours," he interrupted smoothly.

"I..." Kes hesitated. "Yes, I'll come."

"Good." As he placed a hand on her shoulder, the world tilted around them. Foreign abilities. Very exciting.

"You're not a human mage, are you?"

"No."

The harsh desert sunlight glinted off beaks, feathers, fur, talons, claws, fierce inhuman eyes, all belonging to the pride of griffins curled on the burning stone. They glared at Kes, distrustful, hostile. Earth and fire were opposed by nature, and she would not be welcome here until she had at least begun her journey from one to the other.

"Come." 'Erikaitunte' brought her to one of the many injured griffins. "This is Kiibaile Esterire Airaikeliu, the Lord of Fire and Air. See him whole, woman, and he will be whole." He couldn't take his eyes off the king's spilling blood as it crystallized into garnets and rubies. Something he had always known by his Loop memories, but foreign to his Awake self. He knew the same would happen if he were cut, which to be honest made him uncomfortable. "Kes," he said. The sooner his people were healed, the sooner he could stop thinking about it.

Worry in her eyes, she looked up from Esterire Airaikeliu's side, where she had been kneeling. "I don't know how."

"Let me help you." Erik grasped her hand and poured fire into her. A snippet of melody passed though his head, and he smiled. It certainly could be made to fit. "Daylight sharpens, heightens each sensation  
Shifting sands awake imagination  
Silently the senses abandon their defenses...

.

_Flowing, pooling, take the light within you  
__Touch it, trust it, pulsing brightly in you  
__Let your magecraft wake, let the earth inside you break  
__Let your heart gaze at the desert and admire  
__The power of -_

_Opairaien Faintume!_

By now a griffin reared up dramatically, he returned his forelegs to the ground. _Yes?_

The Lord of Fire and Air, now healed, glared at him. _I concede your wisdom in finding the girl, but_ griffins do not sing. _Refrain from doing so._

No singing? No music? Well then. _Yes, Lord, of course. Kes, there are others to attend to. Come._

_._

When he met with them, the leaders of the Feirabiand troops were openly hostile and unwilling to come to an agreement, despite his efforts. This was clearly due to the one being an earth mage, as the earth-fire opposition was stronger with mages - not to say that he wasn't affected either - and the other being an Awake Raoul de Chagny. Sorry, 'Beraoul son of Boudan.' Apparently, 'Erikaitunte' hadn't been the only one whose name was changed to match the setting. The man had seemed unusually dazed at the time. He wasn't sure why. Maybe heatstroke. After the negotiations failed, Erik accepted that the griffins would have to fight Feirabiand. It would be a day for death, although he knew none of it would be on his side. There were only a hundred men, not a cold mage to be found, and he had Kes.

He was right. Furthermore, Raoul was wounded, and wouldn't soon forgive him for letting him die, so he would have to hope that fire magic could heal a creature of earth. It would also be expedient for the griffins to keep the king's emissary alive, but at the moment that wasn't something he particularly cared about.

The man blinked open his eyes and struggled to his feet. "...Opairaen Faintume?"

_Raoul._ He should have been dealing with Esterire Airaikeliu and the other griffins. Evidently, he wasn't.

"Erik." He glanced around, taking in the empty desert. "Why have you brought me here?"

_The griffins are a threat to Feirabiand. You men are woefully outmatched._

Raoul looked at him flatly. "That's why you're going against - at least for this loop - your own kind? To even things out? Funny, you didn't strike me as the type."

_Griffins also seem to neither understand nor appreciate music._

He sighed. "Of course that's your reason. What do you want from me?"

_By the time you return to your king, you should be able to tell him that the griffins are no longer a problem._

Raoul paled. "All of them?"

_Yes. _The landscape warped, and he -

"No!"

\- did not vanish. _What did you do?_

"What do you mean?"

_You know what I mean, man!_

"I said not to leave...and you chose to stay?"

_Chose nothing! What did you do to me?_

"...Jump." The griffin visibly twitched. "Now."

Glowering, Erik crouched, then sprang, knocking Raoul to the ground. _You didn't say _where_ to jump. Now tell me why I shouldn't kill you._

"You won't kill me because I won't let you. In fact, you won't kill, period." Beraoul grinned. "Did you know that many Feirabiandans have a bond with a certain kind of animal? Only I never heard of anyone with an affinity to griffins before."

* * *

5.3

Christine waved Raoul out of the room; he wasn't Awake, and judging by the lack of Ping response, neither was Erik. She was considering just not unmasking him and seeing what happened. Why not.

_Insolent boy, this slave of fashion  
__Basking in your glory_

At first, she didn't notice anything.

_Ignorant fool, this brave young suitor  
__Sharing in my triumph_

Then she realized with a start that she wasn't actually _hearing_ him. Bewildered, she cautiously moved to the mirror, slid it open, and gaped in astonishment. Before her sat a griffin, jet-black save for a white patch of feathers in roughly the shape and location of a half-mask. Fire flickered in his golden eyes and danced in his shadow. To top it all off, his stance and expression were dripping with smugness. _Surprise_.

"I assume you're Awake?" It wasn't really a question.

He seemed inordinately pleased with himself. _The Griffin of the Opera is there inside your mind._

"Oh, shut up."

The world abruptly tilted, and they were in Erik's cavern, although she took several seconds to make sense of the transition and several more to wonder where the lake had gone. There usually wasn't this much sand, either.

"How did you do all this without anyone noticing?"

_Magic_.

"Right, right. Magic, of course. I should have guessed."

.

"These are both signed O.G.  
Who the hell is he?  
Opera Ghost!  
This is -"

"No, Messieurs." Madame Giry, passing by by chance, took her opportunity to correct them. "As of last night, apparently, Opera _Griffin_."

.

Christine strode through the passageways and across the hot sands to the griffin currently attempting to work a pen with talons.

"You aren't stuck like that, are you?"

_No._

"Good. Now tell me, _exactly what were you thinking when you killed Buquet?_" It hadn't even been the Punjab lasso this time. The poor man had dropped to the stage nearly disemboweled, accompanied by a few black feathers drifting down.

Erik evenly met her glare. _It was a day for death,_ he said calmly, as if that were an answer.

"A day for -" Christine glowered at him, momentarily at a loss for words. "This is something about griffins, isn't it?"

_I suppose so._ He didn't seem bothered at all.

"It's in your soul that the true distortion lies," she half-sang, furious.

His blazing yellow eyes widened. _Christine -_

"Christine nothing, and it's so much worse when you have feathers!" She stormed away.

.

_In hindsight, we pro_"bably should have paid more attention to the wind that came with the desert."

"Watery basements aren't generally designed to stand against pounding sands, no."

"Impeccable timing, though. Right when the chandelier would have fallen."

"Is that supposed to be a good thing?"

"No, of course not!"

"Hm."

The two surveyed the wreckage of the Populaire.

"It won't happen again."

"It had better not."

* * *

5.4

"What a dreadful town  
What a vulgar place  
What an awful mistake to have come here -"

Christine Awoke to Raoul's tirade against all things American. She blinked. She frowned. She glanced at Gustave and back to her husband, who showed no sign of being Awake.

Groaning, she strode to a chair and slumped into it. She had hoped to never be here again.

_Damn it, why are we - Christine, I'm coming in._ Oh, no. Erik appeared in the room, haughty and proud and inhuman for all of a second. Soon enough, the flames left his eyes and his shadow stopped singeing the carpet.

"You didn't think this through, did you?"

Raoul glared at her. "_I_ didn't - it's _your_ fault we came here!"

"Not you, dear. We have a guest."

He spun around. "You."

"Me." A smile played about Erik's lips. "I'd like to welcome you both to America."

"How did you get in here?"

"You left the door open. It wasn't that hard. Oh, and I'll offer you twi-"

"Phantom," Christine warned. God, was he seriously trying this?

Erik looked uncertain, remembered exactly what the issue was, and changed tack. "...twooo tickets to Phantasma. Last day of the season, great show, Meg's rehearsals have been wonderful." He coughed awkwardly.

Raoul glared. "Somehow I doubt you invaded our room just to give us tickets."

"We'll need three." Christine waved a hand in the direction of the piano, where Gustave was curiously paging through a score.

Erik turned his gaze to follow her gesture. "...Oh. Yes. Clearly, three are needed." He made a show of searching through his pockets. "I have apparently neglected to bring even one. Why don't I go find some." He briskly strode out of the room.

_Dammit she was right I didn't think that through I forgot about Meg and Gustave how did I forget about _Gustave_ how did I forget about my own _son_ that is not okay dammit dammit_ dammit

Wondering if he even realized he was broadcasting his thoughts, Christine carefully kept a straight face as Raoul glanced between her and the doorway.

"That was odd," he noted, eyes still narrowed.

She took his hand, giving him a soft smile and a peck on the lips. "It made sense to me. He's not comfortable seeing us married, especially not with a child. I'm sure he wanted to win me back, but that will never happen." At least, nothing of the sort would happen in the next two days.

"I suppose," Raoul allowed, walking to the door himself, a dour look on his face.

"Raoul..."

"Hm?"

She paused, an appealing idea coming to mind. "If you're going drinking, I'm coming along."

* * *

5.5

Unfortunately, Christine Awoke in much the same situation as last loop. This time, however, her husband was definitely not Raoul. A brief check of her memories gave her the name 'Ted.'

The man poured himself a drink, then promptly splashed it all over himself.

She blinked. "What?"

He glanced at her. "You know I have a drinking problem."

Christine frowned. A drinking... oh. She sighed, disappointed with the multiverse in general.

* * *

5.6

In the cemetery, he should have jumped down with a sword. When he wasn't Awake and she hadn't left baseline yet, he always jumped down with a sword. Instead, he began throwing fireballs.

"Very funny, Erik, pretending not to be Awake. Now can you stop attacking Raoul?"

His head snapped to her. "Erik?"

"That...is your name, yes."

"How did you know?"

"I mean it; you can stop pretending. The fireballs gave it away, you know, although it was very clever of you to figure out how to hide your shadow."

He frowned at the man's shadow lying starkly on the snow. "Hide my shadow?"

"Yes, and you - oh. Oh. This is just some variant, isn't it?" She glanced from one utterly bemused man to the other, frowned, coughed, grinned sheepishly, and announced, "I am trying to decide what to do about Don Juan. I am very, very conflicted and stressed right now and should not be expected to make sense. Please pretend what just happened, didn't just happen." They were still staring at her. "Um. Bye." She took their silence as an opportunity to run to Raoul's horse and flee the scene.

* * *

5.1 - Maybe he was Awake, maybe he wasn't. Does it matter? Either way, he was not expecting that.

5.2 - The Griffin Mage trilogy: Magic teleporting fire griffins and magic affinity/maker/legist earth people, occasionally with some bizarre overlap. Also, I actually wrote up the whole "Music of the Fire" song, then used two verses from it. The rest will probably never see the garish light of day. Yeah, I'm smart like that.

5.3 - Initially, I didn't plan on Erikaitunte being this harsh. Then the Buquet bit wrote itself, and it did seem very in-character for a griffin. Especially one who was also Erik.

5.4 - This happens sometimes. (Note from the future: I was rereading this chapter and I realized that Raoul would have heard Erik's telepathy just as much as Christine did. Man, was _that_ actually a lot worse than what I'd intended to write.)

5.5 - Airplane!

5.6 - Musical Phantom is easily confused with Griffin Erik.


	6. Loops 6

_"If life gives you ugliness, go hide in a basement and kill people."_

_"I resent that."_

_"I don't care. It's true, isn't it?"_

_"...I'm getting better."_

* * *

6.1 (4.3 continued)

The Phantom had indeed had food, and Christine had subsequently tried not to take too much of a lead with Past the Point of No Return. After all, he was the composer, not she. When they had done with the song, she allowed that she should return, but took the gondola by herself to let him continue his work. She was poling herself along to experimental strains of Don Juan when the music faded away, not due to distance alone. She turned the boat around and listened. The only thing to hear for several minutes was the soft sounds of the lake, but then...

"Shamed into solitude  
Shunned by the multitude  
I learned to listen  
In my dark, my heart heard music..."

Had he sung this before, and Christine just hadn't been there? It wouldn't have surprised her if this was her fifth loop, but she couldn't believe she had missed it every time so far. She brought the boat closer.

"...Shared in my emptiness  
No one would listen  
No one but her  
Heard as the outcast hears..."

No, this couldn't have been baseline. After she left, the Phantom would have thought of her as anything but sympathetic and understanding. By the time he finished, the gondola had landed and she had strode to where he sat by the model stage. He looked up at her forlornly.

"Before I left, I forgot to give you this." This being a long, deep embrace. He stiffened momentarily, then welcomed it. He really did need it.

* * *

6.2

"I should have known that you'd be here  
I should have known it all along -"

"You." Striding into the room, Raoul glared at the Phantom. "It can't be you.  
Is this a jest?  
How can this be?  
We've come to work  
At _his _request?"

He picked up a few sheets of paper, glancing them over.

"The contract's here  
Now let me see..."

Evidently Awake, he looked through them for a minute or two.

"It's true the price  
Is rather high  
Perhaps absurd  
But even so

I'll tell you, 'boss',  
That by the by  
The fee will change  
Or else we go."

"Is that so?" the Phantom sneered. "What are you asking for, then?"

"Oh, just a little something." Raoul flipped through the score on the piano. "Here's a puzzle. You pay us one cent for the first word, two cents for the second, four for the third, eight for the fourth, and so on. I'll even let you count each word just once - there's certainly a lot of love in this song, but you would only have to pay once for it. Does this sound fair to you?"

The Unawake composer smirked. "More than fair."

One revised and resigned contract and a few panicked calculations later, the ridiculously-far-past-penniless Phantom glared at Raoul. "Well played."

* * *

6.3

And now, the news.

The foundation is finally being laid for the new Old Night Vale Opera House. Old Woman Josie was on hand for the ceremony. In fact, she brought her own cement mixer and poured it herself. Several creatures claiming to be angels, wearing yellow and orange triangles – the logo of StrexCorp, now of course owned by these same creatures – were on hand to assist. But Josie kept slapping their many hands away when they attempted to aid her with the heavy mixer and strenuous work.

"Please, let me help," one of the supposed angels - who are almost all named Erika - demanded.

"I'm fine, Erik! I have this! Go get me some water," Josie said.

"No," he insisted. "This means quite a lot to me. Give me that mixer."

"Why does it matter?"

"Opera houses are valuable buildings," Erik said, "and I have personally destroyed too many."

Josie shrugged. "Well, if you care so much - hey! You forgot to record Castle last night! Make yourself useful and double-check the TiVo before I get home."

Erik heaved a sigh.

* * *

6.4

Christine stared. "But... what?"

"This isn't the Phantom who plans to kill me if you reject him. This is the Phantom who plans to _blow up the whole damn Opera_ if you reject him," Raoul concluded.

"To be fair, he does burn it down in the baseline..."

"This one being carefully planned out. By which I mean barrels and barrels of gunpowder in the basement."

"...And he's not Awake."

"Exactly."

She shuddered. "What are we going to do?"

Raoul shrugged helplessly. "Leave and hope he doesn't follow us?"

.

Debienne and Poligny, sitting at the middle of the table, had not yet seen the man with the death's-head when he opened his mouth to speak, closed it, blinked in confusion, frowned, and abandoned whatever he had planned to say in favor of an intelligent "What?"

All eyes turned to the man as hand met misshapen face. After a few disbelieving pats, the lowering hand revealed a look of shock and a fake nose about to fall off. Then a thought seemed to strike him, or perhaps several, or even many - and, if such a thing were possible, the horror in his black sockets grew.

"Damn it all," he spat under his breath.

Not even those behind him could say exactly when he had left the room, but -

No, that was a lie. Despite his usual ghostlike movements, _everyone_ saw him flee from the room.

.

Christine frowned. "You're not afraid of him, are you?"

"Of course not!" Raoul argued.

"Then why run?"

"Why not run?"

She laughed suddenly. "Oh, I see. You want me all to yourself."

.

Maybe he should become a griffin. He wouldn't have to look like _this _any longer -

but no, that warped his mind in ways that would most likely _not _interact well with his Loop memories. Besides which, Christine didn't like it. It would be best not to use it that much until he could better control himself.

Clearly, there was but one appropriate response to this: he would return home, curl up in a bed, and shudder over his life history and general situation in this variant. A proper bed, too - the one the Unawake him had reserved for Christine. He'd be damned if he was going to sleep in a _coffin._

.

"And if I do?"

"You could have just asked."

"True."

She took his hand in hers. "Why don't we - what was it again? When you're going to leave."

"The Polar expedition?"

"Yes, that. When that comes around, I'll come with you."

"Christine, I don't think -" He frowned. "He should be coming soon. I'll be waiting outside if you need me."

.

The plan was going absolutely perfectly.

.

"I think you're wrong and this is a different variant."

Raoul frowned. "But it matched up so well in the beginning."

Christine sighed. "It's been over a week and all my lessons are apparently canceled. No one else responded to my Ping, so he can't be Awake. This isn't it, I'm telling you."

.

It had been quite a while since the last new sighting or rumor of the ghost, a trend which lent one foreign man a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. The dismantled death traps along the way only heightened his feelings.

The Persian stared. This was unexpected. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Erik mumbled through the blankets.

"Forgive me, but this is quite unlike you."

"I don't care."

The Persian frowned. "Are you all right?"

Erik sat up with a jolt, throwing off the covers. "Look at me! I'm a hideous murdering monster!" He moaned, flopping down again. "Granted, I've always been, but this time it's as if everything bad about me was made _worse_..."

"What are you talking about?"

"I never thought Buquet's ridiculous, horrible description would be _true._.."

"What?"

"Just go away!" he snapped.

The Persian decided that was a good idea.

.

"We're leaving now."

"The expedition won't happen for weeks -"

"Oh, who cares about the expedition?" Christine twirled, laughing. "Let's just go north by ourselves! Trust me. It'll be romantic!"

Raoul kissed her cheek. "If you say so."

.

Erik couldn't look at Don Juan. Even his music was so much darker here...

On second thought, he would never be able to control himself as a griffin if he never practiced.

.

Christine snuggled into Raoul's arm, smiling. "That was wonderful."

"I agree completely." He chuckled. "I've never had so much fun in the snow before."

"Mm, yes..."

The boat rocked on the waves, France growing on the horizon.

"And now we're almost home." He frowned. "Did 'home' ever look quite so...sandy?"

She blinked her eyes open, saw what he was gesturing to, and grimaced. "I think I know why we were so confused about what variant this was."

.

_No, no, no, go back to being_ _countryside! _Erik snarled to little effect at the burning sand beneath him. One mistake, one day, just _one_ lapse in judgement, and most of France was a desert. Reversing it was so much harder - it would take him several months of effort at the very least. Damn it, he needed more practice.

* * *

6.5

Christine glared at Erik as he strangled her fiancé. She had had _plans_ for this Loop, and that was the only reason she had let baseline come this far. She didn't _like_ letting people die, and now they had, and it had been for nothing.

He had been dousing himself in self-pity as usual when his face gained these strange red markings. Raoul came in right on schedule, which was probably the only thing saving her at the moment.

"Stop it!" she demanded, but it was too late. Erik's now-feathered shadow began to boil the lake as he dropped the body, glowered at it, and set it aflame for good measure.

He turned to Christine, eyes blazing, paused, then frowned, glancing behind him. "Sorry."

"I'm not speaking to you for the rest of the loop, maybe the next one. That was absolutely horrific." She turned and strode away.

"But -" He hesitated. "I suppose that's fair."

* * *

6.6

"My broken soul  
Can't be alive and whole  
Till I hear you sing -" a phonograph was on the floor. It hadn't been there when he entered the room, he was sure of it. A record was on it, ready to be played.

He was intrigued. What was on it? Who put it there? There was only one way to find out.

"Music, your music  
It teases at my ear  
I turn and it fades away  
And you're not here...  
I miss you, my Angel of Music. Come to me, please, someday soon. I have a surprise for you..."

It was Christine's voice. Somewhat slurred, but that was clearly the fault of the record. What else could it have been?

A piece of paper attached to the machine held an address, which to the wayward Angel seemed like the way to heaven.

Meanwhile, Christine and Raoul giggled like mad as they raced back to the ship. "That wash fun," Christine grinned.

"Yesssssshhhh. I jusht wish we c'd shee Carlittlesh fashe when he showsh up atter door," Raoul slurred.

"Carlittle?"

"'R shumpin like that."

She laughed. "Y'mean Carlotta?"

"Yeah, that."

As they meandered their way onto the ship, they belatedly realized someone was waiting for them. A small someone, holding his head in his hands with an air of resignment. "Mother, Father, did you go get drunk and play pranks again?"

Raoul beamed. "Mayyyyyybe."

"Why?"

"It'sh fun," he grinned.

Gustave sighed. "You do know that both of you are being terrible role models, right?"

"Shurrrrr." Christine stuck out her tongue. "Shouldinchu be'n bed by now?"

When the boy had gone, they too began staggering to their cabin, utterly pleased with themselves.

The next morning was not quite as fun, but they both agreed it was probably worth it.

* * *

6.1 - If only Christine had done something different, that song might have been baseline. But she didn't, therefore it became a deleted scene. Shame.

6.2 - Raoul is now owed more than $5 octillion. Hooray for doubling!

6.3 - Welcome to Night Vale.

6.4 - Pinging is a good way to know who's Awake, except when they forget about it. Tsk tsk.

6.5 - Part of a major Halloween event involving Link Joker and a Yggdrasil-wide virus. Virus makes Erik try to defeat Raoul? Erik will defeat Raoul _so hard_. (Which kinda backfired, as dead people can't defeat others and spread the virus. Well, I suppose you could have a staring contest...)

6.6 - They've been doing this for years. Gustave is utterly fed up with them.


	7. Loops 7

**And I'm no longer alone! Yay!**

* * *

_"All that sings beautifully is not handsome."_

* * *

7.1

"Every time, you say?"

Christine nodded. "I leave you on good terms, and you sing that song. It's so predictable, it almost seems like it _should_ be baseline."

"But it isn't, of course."

"No, it isn't."

Erik absentmindedly hummed a snatch of something unfamiliar. "Could I hear it again? It's giving me some ideas."

* * *

7.2 (TangleKat)

Erik stared at Erik. This fused loop was... odd.

The kid was named after him. A PENGUIN was named after him. And said penguin sang Opera.

What were the chances?

* * *

7.3

"Why so silent, good Messieurs - did you think that I had left you for good? Have you missed me, good Messieurs? I have written you an opera."

To most, his mischievous smile was clearly a sign of some wickedness about this man, certainly the same man who hanged Buquet in the middle of a show. (Granted, it had actually been a lifelike doll, but the audience and ballet girls had been just as terrified as if it had been the real thing. Some couldn't even be calmed down by the real - if somewhat shaken - Buquet showing himself to be perfectly alive.) To Christine and Raoul, who had managed on request to stick more or less to normal baseline despite it being a certain miserable variant, the smile signaled the deviation from the script which they had known was coming. And soon, they knew, they would find out what it was.

"Here I bring the finished score: The Life and Times of Pippin!"

The two shared a glance. What was that?

.

"Erik? This script -"

"This script is the completely true story of my life, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise," he recited.

"Oh, is that so?" Christine raised an eyebrow.

"I most certainly did not write word-for-word the events of the baseline of another Loop."

"Does that include the end? It doesn't seem like it can't be about you at that point."

"No, everything past La Sorelli's fall was all mine."

She pouted. "I can't tell if you're lying on that one."

"When have I ever lied to you?"

"Really?"

"Hmph."

"Another Loop, you said. Just a guess, then - _you _weren't actually Pippin?"

"What makes you say that?"

"Something about the Leading Player reminded me of you." She smirked.

"Good guess."

"Thank you."

"So what exactly did you come to ask me?"

"Oh! Right, that. Some of the scenes are a bit, well..."

"What's wrong with a little 'sex presented pastorally'?"

She gave him a flat look. "At the very least, don't you think Phantasma would be a better place to perform this? As well as, perhaps, leaving me out of them?"

"This is the story of my life, Christine -"

"No, it isn't."

"...Regardless. Of _course_ you're the love interest. Besides, it's just one part, and you're hidden from view under the sheets for all of it. La Sorelli and the dancers have quite the song and I don't see them complaining."

"They're not comfortable enough around you to complain, although I agree that Sorelli doesn't seem to mind. Why did you cast her as Pippin, though? I seem to remember your holding a low opinion of her, and besides, she's female."

"I preferred her to the available men." He shrugged. "She's decent enough, I suppose. I'll enjoy her reaction when I come in. She's popular with the public. She has no problem with...certain kinds of scenes. As it is, Pippin will already cause enough of a scandal, don't you agree?"

"Oh, certainly."

"...Those parts weren't mine, I'll have you know. I'm not quite _that _interested in dancing girls."

"Mm-hm."

.

Someone knocked on his door.

"Erik?" Oh, it was him.

"Yes, person-I-don't-really-know-yet-know-quite-well?"

"...what?"

He let the Persian in and offered him a seat. "Nothing. What did you come to discuss?"

"Your opera is entirely composed of lies."

"Not lies, Daroga," Erik corrected, "plagiarism."

"Well, then, it's both. You know very well that you're no prince -"

"And I don't tell the audience I am. I play a prince, which is an entirely different thing."

The Persian heaved a sigh, slumping against a wall."A false version of you plays a prince. Regardless, you were _born_ like this. Fire doesn't even _leave_ those kinds of marks."

"Not always."

"What?"

"I'm not always born like this, even if you're counting my baseline looks as 'this'." Erik shrugged. "Sometimes it's because of acid. It's rare, I grant you, but it does happen."

The Persian frowned. "...what?"

He grinned brightly. "Oh, and there was that one time it was fire - but you're right, my face did look somewhat different than usual. Once, I even looked normal! Nothing wrong at all, can you believe that?"

"I...what?"

"Oh, I do love these conversations. Let's talk again soon." He showed his companion the door. "I'm acting in it myself and should really be rehearsing."

"You're going to -"

"No, _you're_ going. _A bientot, mon ami_."

.

"Rivers belong where they can ramble  
Eagles belong where they can fly..."

The troupe watched with bated breath as La Sorelli-as-Pippin glanced at the torch in her hand, then at the Box in which she was to burn herself. She hesitated, then continued the tune.

"I've got to be where my spirit can run free  
Got to find my corner of the -"

She jumped into the Box, and painted flames rose from the open trapdoor behind it. With a dramatic scream, Sorelli dropped down and reached for her change of costume - and her hand was stopped. She made eye contact, took a breath to shriek, found a hand over her mouth. The man raised his other hand in calming gestures, and she realized she was face to face with the Opera Ghost. Clearly, he meant to fill in for her; he was certainly dressed for the part. Faced with this sight, the ever-superstitious Sorelli crossed herself and fainted dead away. Erik-as-Pippin caught her, lowered her to the ground, and prepared to take her place.

Above them, the troupe was cheering Pippin's 'death'. The flames lowered too far to hide any man not lying flat on (or standing under) the ground. The troupe sang in celebration and danced all props but the Box and its fire off the stage. The backdrop rose and vanished. The orchestra stopped playing. The silence was just long enough to make the audience begin to mutter.

Then the music swelled as if it had never stopped. Erik sprang out onto the stage. Swaths of his costume were made to look burnt away and the remainder ash-darkened. His skin was likewise streaked with 'ash'. While he wore neither mask nor wig, he strategically held his head in his cold yellowed hands.

"I had come here  
In pursuit of my deepest goal  
In pursuit of a wish which has now fallen silent  
Silent

Now I stand here  
Wounded body and wounded soul  
In my mind I had nearly succumbed to it  
Dropping defenses  
I'd nearly succumbed to it  
Now it has ravaged me  
No second thoughts  
I've decided  
Decided." He brushed off the ash.

"Past the point of no return  
No backward glances  
This real-life make-believe is at an end."  
He began walking stage right, maintaining a stance which kept the audience from getting a good look.  
"Past all thoughts of glory bright  
No more an actor  
The world beyond's what I'll now apprehend."

Now offstage and slipping from this costume to another, he continued singing. While he was doing so, the cast was strolling onstage as passersby on Paris streets. (While they were offstage, Christine had filled them in on his plan, and if some were apprehensive they agreed regardless that the performance should continue.)

"No time to grieve for my mistakes  
It's time to leave and time to live  
'Take some of what the world gives me'  
Past the point of no return  
No going back now  
I -" He stepped back on in his typical outfit, which provided no distraction whatsoever from the full-on sight of his revealed face. The horrific visage, already worsened tenfold by the variant, had been accentuated with makeup for the performance; the unsuspecting audience had it thrust directly upon them. The gasps of the crowd in their seats were soon drowned out, however, by the screams of the crowd onstage.

"Demon!"

"Creature!"

"Monster!"

"Phantom!"

Left alone on stage once more as the others fled, Erik fell to his knees and let out a distraught sob.

A backdrop came down: painted lake and painted stone, the top third or so displaying the very stage he was now standing on. The cavern below the Opera.

"I'm not a monster or an evil beast  
Just a man led astray  
Turned back to light to find  
I was shunned by the day

I wanted nothing but a miracle  
Just a human touch  
I wanted such a little thing from life  
I wanted so much

I'll never return to that  
Demonic career." He gestured to the still-present flames.  
"I won't go back there  
I think I'll be here."

He reached offstage, returning with his mask, wig and cape.

"They called me Phantom, screamed and ran away  
Afraid of my face." He swirled the cape around his shoulders and fastened it with a flourish.  
"So I'll be Phantom of this Opera  
Alone in this place." He set the wig on his head and adjusted it slightly. The mask lingered in his hands; he simply looked at it.

"I never came close to them  
I'm left in this lair  
I think I'll be here  
For I couldn't be there."

The mask went on, and he pulled his organ from offstage straight to front and center. He smoothly blended it into the orchestra as the music faded into a different tune.

"Shamed into solitude  
Shunned by the multitude  
I learned to listen  
In my dark, my heart heard music

I longed to teach the world  
Rise up and reach the world  
No one would listen  
I alone could hear the music

Then at last a voice in the gloom  
Seemed to cry, 'I hear you  
I hear your fears  
Your torment and your tears'"

Christine stepped onstage, dressed as she had been as Margarita, her first starring role of the variant. Striding over to him, she took his hand in hers and smiled.

"She saw my loneliness  
Shared in my emptiness  
No one would listen  
No one but her  
Heard as the outcast -"

"Morning glow, morning glow," she broke in, interrupting his melancholy tune with a final sunny reprise. One by one, the rest of the cast sidled onstage and joined in, beaming at the audience.  
"Starts to glimmer when you know  
Winds of change are set to blow  
And sweep this whole land through  
Morning glow is long past due

Morning glow, by your light  
We can make the new day bright"  
"And the Phantom of the night  
Will fade into the past," Erik crowed.  
"Morning glow is here at last!"

And the audience - thank God - the audience broke into applause.

* * *

7.4

"Look at your face in the mirror  
I am there inside..."

Said mirror slid open, revealing the masked man within. Christine promptly let out a shriek and ran from the room.  
"Stranger danger! _Stranger danger_!"

(Unfortunately, the joke was far ahead of everyone else's time, and all she received were blank stares. Even worse, none of the others were Awake, so they didn't get it either. Sigh. Things never seemed quite so funny when you were the only one to understand them.)

* * *

7.5

"But if it's loudly sung and in a foreign tongue  
It's just the sort of story audiences adore  
In fact a perfect opera -"

"No, Messieurs. Not quite."

Everyone present swiveled to look at the girl unexpectedly leaning against the banister of the staircase, a bright grin on her face.

"You see," Christine continued, "the singing works well, and so does the foreign language, but it's better as a musical. A mix of song and spoken dialogue is much truer to our story than just the singing, don't you agree?"

"Musical?" La Carlotta sniffed.

"I hear they're quite popular in other places. Regardless, the tale as you have it is too simple. Throw in a sociopathic-yet-misunderstood music-loving recluse, make the lead girl have to choose - now _that's _interesting." Apparently from behind the staircase but actually from her Pocket, Christine pulled out a television, a large battery hooked up to it (some Loops got to have electricity the whole time. Here, it was nowhere near widespread even by the end, lucky them), and a DVD. "Now, everyone sit down and look at the magic box." This would be fun.

* * *

7.1 - Deleted scene is a thing.

7.2 - Happy Feet 2

7.3 - Pippin is great if you don't mind a few...raunchy...scenes. I take pleasure in rewriting songs. That's probably a large part of why I'm writing for the Phantom loops and not...I dunno, something else.

7.4 - Totally an appropriate reaction.

7.5 - Brought to you by dat meta line in Prima Donna. Perfect opera indeed.


	8. Loops 8

_"Guns and bullets may break my bones, but certain words can definitely hurt me. 'We can't all be Christine?' Really? Were you _trying_ to get me killed?"_

_"I'm sorry, okay? How many times do I have to apologize?"_

_"As many as necessary__."_

_"Which is how many?"_

_"Until I tell you to stop."_

* * *

8.1

"So let me get this straight," Raoul said. "There's a virus going around that turns everything 'child-friendly'."

Achlys, Greek goddess of night, misery, and sorrow and the Admin for their Loop, nodded. "That's it exactly."

"That's why the Phantom just wanted to be Christine's friend, and wore a mask because of his _acne_."

"That's right."

"And why Gustave was brought by a stork, and Beneath a Moonless Sky was a song about the weather."

"Yes."

"And why, when I tried to forget this through drinking, all the alcohol turned out to be milk. Incidentally, why _milk_?"

"You'd have to ask the hackers."

"Actually, that one was me," Christine volunteered. "Alcoholics shouldn't take risks."

Raoul leveled a glare at his wife._ "Thank you so much._ So I assume the virus was why Meg had apparently spent ten years hugging people, then gave Gustave a swimming lesson?"

"Mm-hm," Achlys agreed.

"Because despite the severe bowdlerization of the loop, my prior experience with her made it absolutely terrifying when she dropped my son into the ocean."

The goddess winced in sympathy. "I assure you, we've done our best to prevent a repeat situation."

* * *

8.2

"I'm the Opera Ghost," Erik announced.

Christine raised an eyebrow. "Is that supposed to be news?"

"Oh, it definitely is, seeing as how I'm dead." He floated in without bothering to open the mirror.

She stared at him. "What?"

"Oh, didn't I mention? I'm the Opera Ghost, emphasis on _ghost._"

* * *

8.3

"That...is not Phantasma."

"No, it isn't."

"Where did you..."

"It's occasionally my last name, when I have one."

"It's a bit...brightly colored for you."

Erik shrugged. "I suppose."

Christine stared at the pastel structures and spires of Destlerland, struggling to find words. "_Why_?"

"Well, why not?"

* * *

8.4

"Masquerade  
Paper faces on parade  
Masquerade  
Hide your face so the world will never find you!"

The costumed crowd continued their dance, uninterrupted by the Red Death who stood, bewildered, just inside the room. His plans for the typical grand entrance had fallen apart as soon as he stepped in.

A figure in black spun past him. A man in a white half-mask danced with a woman in a swirling cloak. The grandiose ballroom was filled to the brim with all-too-familiar black and white. As he stared in confusion, two familiar brown-haired phantoms approached him, grinning.

"You're not dressed right," Christine pointed out. "Get back to your cave and don't come back until you are."

Erik pressed a hand to his face. "Exactly what is going on here?"

"A very large number of bribes," Raoul admitted cheerfully.

"Why?"

"We thought it would be funny. Plus I'm fairly sure that at some point everyone will take off everyone else's mask -"

"Because you suggested the idea to them," Christine reminded him.

"That I did. It would be a new and interesting way to reveal yourself to the public, wouldn't it?"

Erik shrugged. "I guess I'll get changed, then."

* * *

8.5

"Raoul." Christine turned her gaze from him to the paper in her hand. "I can't."

"Is that..." He frowned at its waxen seal, and the familiar red skull grinned back at him. "He's still using that," he noted.

"He never really stopped."

"Huh." He sighed. "Are you really saying that you'd prefer Christmas with him to Christmas with me? I should have known."

"No, I'm... He asked me first, but..." She collapsed onto the stair, head in hands. "We three are not in a stable situation, Raoul. I can't tell him that I abandoned him for you, you know I can't."

He crouched to look her in her downturned eyes. "But you can."

"Not with...no, I _can't_. I don't want him to think I'm choosing you."

"Why not?"

"Because! And the other way around is just as bad."

Raoul chuckled. "Now that I agree with."

"Can you just stop? Look, I don't know, okay? I just don't know. I _will_ choose between you, I promise I will, but not just yet. Both of you keep arguing your own sides and it is honestly _not helping_." She met his gaze, then dropped it. "Please."

He hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Since it matters so much to you, I'll try."

Her mouth twitched in a smile. "If you keep doing it," she warned, "I might just pick him to spite you."

"You wouldn't."

"I wouldn't," she agreed with a laugh. "But if it helps, in the end I'm _probably_ not going to go with the one who keeps nagging me. It does not win you favors."

"Makes sense." He nodded again, sagely.

"So! Christmas," she reminded him. "Any ideas?"

"Hmm… Heaven forbid, could the three of us actually spend it together?"  
"We could try, but I don't know that it would work out well," she mused.

.

Christine snickered. "That's one way to trim a tree."

Erik paused to flash her a grin. "It didn't keep its branches at the level of its eyes. It got what was coming to it." He yanked the Punjab tinsel tight and began to wind it around the fir.

"Oh, for sure." She appraised his work. "Only please don't try to _be_ the Angel on top."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

.

"Oh, you were both waiting under the mistletoe for me?" Christine grinned. "Well, that means you're under it together, doesn't it? Now kiss."

The two men cast horrified looks up, at her, at each other. They then proceeded to slowly back away in opposite directions before fleeing the room.

.

"Ooooooo! Wake up, Raoul de Chagny! Oooooo!"

Raoul groaned. "What do you want at too-goddamned-early-o'clock in the morning?"

"It is I, the Opera Ghost of Christmas Future!"

"This is the fourth time tonight, Erik. Go back to bed and let me sleep."

"Bah humbug."

.

It was a special Christmas performance, or at least it was supposed to be. All of the Opera people, joined by a steady flow of audience members, simply stood in the middle of the theatre and looked up at the chandelier.

The chandelier, which was thoroughly festooned with red and green colored lights.

Christine stared at the (at least for the nineteenth century) technological marvel. "How did you manage _that_ in _this_ time period?"

Raoul beamed. "Many, many, _many_ batteries."

.

"Why did I find a stocking by my bed?"

Hiding a smile, Christine shrugged. "Must've been Santa. What was in it?"

Erik displayed the offending item. "A lump of coal."

"I should have known."

.

"I stand corrected," Christine announced.

Raoul looked up from the bottle of alcohol-free wine (why did that even exist) she had handed him. "Hm?"

She sat down beside him. "This was a bit more exciting than I usually picture the Christmas season being, but it was a lot of fun. Thank you for suggesting it - I know I would never have thought it possible myself. You proved me wrong, of course."

He chuckled. "It was certainly better than last year."

_"We do not talk about last year."_

* * *

8.6

It's time to leave him in the dust," the Phantom declared as per your average Phantasma baseline loop.  
"It's time to be who you should be  
It's time to -"  
"Play the music," Christine interrupted.

"What?"

"It's time to light the lights  
It's time to sing for Phantom  
On the Phantasma show tonight!"

Standing with a grin, she spun to face him.

"It's time to put on makeup  
It's time to dress up right  
It's time to get things started  
On the Phantasma show tonight!

Money is why we came here  
I have to sing, you know  
Sometimes you like to torture  
And now you own a show

And now let's get things started -"

"I changed my mind," the Phantom scowled. "Go, leave me, be with your precious Vicomte. One unbalanced person is enough in a relationship."

* * *

8.7

This loop was just plain bizarre. For starters, the latest Paris fashion was apparently to wear a live squirrel on your head. Every word of every song in every opera had been replaced with "Squirrel squirrel squirrel". Raoul had come to her door with a bouquet of squirrels. The Phantom wore a squirrel mask. Instead of a horse, he had attempted to put her on a squirrel. The wedding dress had been made from squirrel pelts. Honestly, if one more thing went squirrelly...

She tentatively removed his mask. Beneath it lay what must have been another - but no, as she pulled at the fur, it stayed on this time. The man, if he could even be called a man, actually had the head of a squirrel.

As he covered his furry face with his hands and whirled into a self-abasing crouch, she turned and stalked to the boat. "I am _done_."

And suddenly the lake was squirrels.

_"__Oh, come on!__"_

* * *

8.8

"Ow," Christine hissed through her teeth, clutching the old wound. Was it phantom pains (ha, phantom pains)?

Oh, wait. It definitely wasn't phantom pains. Christine stared at the gun-holding figure before her.

"I didn't mean to -"

"What. The. Hell. Is. This," she seethed through the pain. "Since when...did loops start...right when I'm..._dying_, for God's sake? _Merde!_"

"Mother!" Gustave wailed. "Why do you have to die again?"

Four pairs of eyes turned to him, three confused and one annoyed. "God works in...mysterious ways," Christine explained. When Gustave frowned, she grinned at him. Well, she tried to. It was more of a grimace. "Don't worry, Gustave. It won't...last long, just a few minutes...I'll be fine. I'm just...very annoyed with our higher power. Damn, but this hurts." Collapsing to the ground, she shook a trembling fist at the sky. "Curse you," she giggled. "Wait, why am I giddy? I'm dying, so...why am I giddy? That's not...I'll go along with it, why not." She laughed and threw out her arms. "I hate the world, whee!"

"Mother?"

"Gustave, be a dear and...fetch me your father's strongest alcohol the...next time you're Awake...won't you? I think I'll...need it."

He bit his lip. "Which one?"

"Oh, you know...who I mean. Raoul, of course...Mr. Y, what do you even...drink? I don't think I've ever...actually seen you with...alcohol. Wine? Whiskey? What?" The Unawake man just stared. "You're...no help," she complained. "Damn! I...I think...it's getting worse...shoo, all of you, I don't...like you right now. Or you can...stay, I guess. Do what you...want, screw it, I don't...even care...anymore...you know...what?" She panted a laugh. "Dying...really...sucks."

And the loop ended.

* * *

8.1 - The 4Kids virus, sent by the hackers of ShoggothChan, is apparently a thing.

8.2 - ooooo spooky

8.3 - They're both amusement parks. It was only a matter of time, really.

8.4 - Masquerade!

8.5 - Christmastime is here by golly, disapproval would be folly, deck the halls with hunks of holly, fill the cup and no Raoul you can't have some.

8.6 - This is what we call the Phantom Show! (Muppets song yay)

8.7 - Stranger than you dreamt it, can you even bear to look or bear to think of me? This loathsome rodent who is a beast but secretly dreams of walnuts, secretly, secretly...

8.8 - ALW's new musical, "Dying Really Sucks". Would that have been a better title? Probably not. Oh by the way, Gustave's apparently Looping.


	9. Loops 9

_"If you love something, let it go. If it comes back, let it go again. If ten years go by with no word from it, assume it still loves you and use a name it doesn't know to persuade it to come back again."_

_"That's ridiculous."_

_"It worked, didn't it?"_

_"If you count her dying as 'working', then yes, it did."_

_"Oh. Right."_

_"...Wait. The first 'let it go' was when we left, right?"_

_"Yes?"_

_"She came back to you. When did this happen, and _what _exactly did happen?"_

_"..."_

_"Well?"_

_"I just remembered I needed to do something it was nice talking to you goodbye!"_

* * *

9.1

"Father dear, come - Mother!"

Christine frowned. "Yes, Gustave?"

He ran to her side, hugging her as hard as he could. "Mother, please, I'm scared  
What a dream - an awful dream!  
Someone strange and mad -"

Her blood ran cold.

"And she - she - oh, Mother, I'm glad it was just a dream!"

"Oh god no."

"Mother?"

"Hold on, dear, I need to have a word with your father." She yanked the Unawake Raoul out of the room. "Our son has just seen me bleed to death twice," she hissed. "You only have a few days to live, and we are going to make all of them the best days he has ever had."

"What are you talking about?" he scowled.

Christine pulled an épée from her Pocket in full view and prodded him with it. "There is magic involved and I'm not in the mood to explain. You're only allowed to talk to the Phantom to tell him to make Gustave's stay wonderful, and you should be doing so yourself. No drinking, no moping, none of that sort of thing."

"_He's _here?"

"He's Mister Y. Hadn't you guessed? It's not important. Gustave is."

He stared at her wordlessly.

"Do you want our son to be traumatized for any longer than he needs to? No?" She tried to muster a glare, but it didn't quite work. Sighing, she returned the sword to whence it came. "Come, we must return. Gustave will be missing us."

* * *

9.2

"Gustave isn't yours."

* * *

9.3

"I had an affair with Erik the night before we were married."

* * *

9.4

"You can't have children."

* * *

9.5

"I had a child with the Phantom."

* * *

9.6

"Raoul, you're not Gustave's father."

* * *

9.7

"My son isn't your son."

* * *

9.8

"Gustave is the bastard son of the Phantom."

* * *

9.9

"What would you say if I told you that the Phantom and I were Gustave's real parents?"

* * *

9.10

"You're a cuckold, dammit!"

* * *

9.11

"Why can't I say this to the real you?" she sighed.

"Say what, and why am I apparently not real?"

"Nothing, nothing. It's fine, damn it."

Her husband looked at her strangely, but said nothing.

* * *

9.12

Christine found him as the last day was ending. "Raoul?"

"Yes, dear?"

She bit her lip. "There's something you should know, but I can't bring myself to tell you."

He frowned. "Why are you mentioning it, then?"

"Next time..." She hesitated. "Next time we have one of the late-starting Loops, you should pretend you aren't Awake, because I don't think I could carry through with it if I knew you were. When you leave the room, hide nearby. I'll be playing it baseline - don't come in until he leaves -"

"What, Gustave?"

"No. 'Mister Y.'" She looked away. "Please, just trust me - at least until then, when you know you can't."

"Christine -"

The Loop ended.

* * *

9.13

It was one of those loops again. Raoul had yet to say anything at the end of tonight, so if he had already heard the two of them he was being awfully secretive about it. It probably wasn't him this time, she reassured herself. It hadn't happened yet.

"Is it on  
With the show  
Does he stay  
Does he go?"

As the Phantom slid from the room, Christine stared at the score in her hand and waited. Raoul came in, as usual, but he carried himself with more stunned horror than insulted anger. Her breath caught. "What happened with Hammerstein?" she tried.

"Hammerstein didn't show. Neither did I."

"I... see."

"Is that why you thought you needed to perform? Because he threatened our son? You could have told me."

"I didn't sing because he threatened _our_ son, Raoul. That wasn't even a problem anymore, not after -" She couldn't meet his gaze. "Didn't you hear - earlier?"

"Yes, I was trying not to think about it." His eyes narrowed. "What are you saying?"

"In my first loop, I had Gustave without ever even meeting you. Loopers can only have children with the same people as baseline, right?"

"Oh." He fell into a chair. "_Oh_."

"I'm sorry."

"You should be." He shook his head. "Honestly, I had pretty much figured it out, but actually _hearing_ it...What made you tell me?"

"Gustave's Looping," she murmured. "I thought it would be best if I told you instead of him."

"He knew before I did?"

"He knew in baseline, at the end." She sighed. "I was dying, all right? I was lightheaded from blood loss, he wanted his father to be there, Erik was a few feet away..."

"Mm." Raoul slumped. "Why?"

"Why did I even - because I -" She didn't want to talk about this anymore. It was already too hard.

The silence stretched on until Christine set the music back on the piano and cleared her throat. "What will we do about the song this time?"

Raoul shrugged halfheartedly. "Shove a brown wig on Meg and make her sing it."

She flinched, ever so slightly. "...Sure, that works."

* * *

9.14

"Christine, Christine," Raoul reassured.

"Christine..." came the soft echo as always, but this time, it all finally clicked into place, the puzzle pieces forming a terrible, terrible picture.

She froze. Confirming her dread, a swirl of black cape flickered momentarily from behind a statue of a horse.

"No more talk of darkness  
Forget these wide-eyed fears..."

Hastily, she allowed the familiar song to catch her body and voice as her mind flew into a panic. He was here. There hadn't been any signs of this being a variant - he must have always been here - and he heard everything - every time - she should have known he was here, he reprised it every time she followed baseline past Don Juan - he was listening to them right now - they were singing about turning away from the darkness he had just sung to her about and he was listening -

"Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime  
Turn my head with talk of summertime..."

God _dammit_ Christine he's right there and you're singing about how much you love someone else oh God what do I do - what if he - what if I -

She let the music carry them off the roof; when she could no longer see the snow drifting down, she stopped Raoul. "I'm sure I heard something earlier," she whispered.

"Let's go down and you can tell me about it then."

"Humor me. Please."

"I -"

"I gave you my music"

"I knew it," she sighed.

"Made your song take wing  
And now how you've repaid me  
Denied me and betrayed me

He was bound to love you  
When he heard you sing"

"What I heard was a dream, you said. There is no Phantom of the Opera, you said. Well, who is my teacher? Where did I go that night? Who had a model of me in a wedding dress -"

"You didn't tell me that -"

"You weren't letting me! Who wrote all those notes? Who wanted Box Five? Who was there when we were singing just now? Who is out there crying to himself, the poor man?"

"He's a killer. You said so yourself!"

"We don't know he killed Buquet! I was assuming, there's hardly any reason to think it was him -"

"But it was me." Gasping, she spun around wildly to find that the Phantom had snuck up on them. "Do you two have a problem?" His voice rang dark and cold as the snow-swirled evening.

Just when she was sympathizing with him... "You see, this is exactly why I don't like you," she snapped.

He cringed, which surprised her; in hindsight, of course, it made sense. He had been reprimanded just after inadvertently baring his soul to them.

Christine folded her arms and turned her back to the Phantom. "If you're trying to make me love you, you're doing all the wrong things. I love your music, your passion, your love for me. I worry about your reactions. You, on the other hand - you fail to think of how I might react to a wedding doll of myself. When I make a mistake of curiosity, you erupt in anger, which frightened me more than your face did. You kill a man, show absolutely no remorse - already a horrible deed - and then don't seem to consider that I might conceivably be afraid of, even dislike, that sort of person. You attack _my_ _fiancé_, kill again, and just when it seems like you're starting to think about what I want, you abandon me. Then you trick me into coming back, blackmail me with a threat to our son to force me to sing for you again, and gamble with my husband over my fate. You alternate between despair, anger, and calculation, all centered on yourself and your wants. You say you love me? Well, then, why don't you seem to care at all?" She paused to flutter a gasped laugh. "And and of course, this does nothing to help, because you're not the Erik who should be hearing this. You're not the Erik I'll be spending what seems to be the rest of eternity with. You won't even remember any of this in eleven years. You won't remember any of this the next time today happens. Why did I even bother?"

Christine spun around to find the Phantom staring at her in a mixture of confusion, hurt, and self-pity. Raoul was mostly just confused.

She laughed again. "Oh, do I sound like I've gone mad? You haven't seen anything. You weren't there when I had to talk Erik down from following me everywhere as my 'pet' griffin. It would have earned some wonderful reactions, but he might've spooked someone and gotten himself sh- gotten himself -" She recoiled from her own words. "Spooked someone and been hurt. People don't exactly expect a dangerous mythical creature to be strolling about Paris, you know. But but you see my point, don't you? You think I sound crazy now? This is nothing. The Loops do that to you but you don't know what those are but still." She shivered. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be going to bed now, Il Muto be damned."

* * *

9.15

"Once upon another time  
We thought that our tale soon would end"

"It seems that we were wrong  
As time keeps Looping on..." Christine presented Erik with a momentary smile, which quickly vanished into a haggard sigh. "Gustave's Looping. Have fun." She left to retrieve her son, brought him into the room, and strode out.

The two looked at each other.

"So." Erik cleared his throat. "You're...um."

"Do I have to call you Father now?" Gustave asked plaintively.

Already uncomfortable, Erik froze at this. Honestly, the thought had never crossed his mind. He had accepted long ago that he had a son, but actually being a father - was that even something he could do? And even if he could - such an intimidating concept - telling Gustave yes would essentially be taking the position from Raoul. The man might not have been Gustave's father by blood, but he had certainly done the work of it. And yet... "No," he finally decided. "Raoul is still your father."

"But Mother said..."

"In one sense, she was right. In another, it's more complicated than that. If you're not comfortable using my name, which is Erik, I can be your Papa."

This, he knew, would take a long time to grow used to. Then again, he had as much time as he needed.

.

The man at the counter raised an eyebrow at the supposedly dignified Christine Daae storming in, finger raised dramatically to the heavens. "A drink, good sir!"

He knew better than to ask prying questions. The typical patronage did not tend to take them kindly. "What do you want?"

"Something stronger than you have. I've never wanted to be in a Looper's bar as much as I do right now," she muttered, slumping onto a stool, and raised her voice again. "Something strong. I don't care about the particulars."

Nodding, the bartender set about making what would be the first of many - well, to be honest, a few.

.

"Damn Hammerstein and damn this whole place - _You,"_ the Unawake Raoul growled, slamming the door behind him. "What are _you_ doing here? What are you doing with my _son_?"

Erik looked up innocently from the piano. "Writing a song?"

"You know what I mean!"

He shrugged. "I run Phantasma - you know, on Coney Island. When I heard you were in town, I came to visit. No hard feelings, right?"

"_No hard feelings_? You nearly _killed_ -"

"Not in front of the kid!" Erik protested.

Raoul folded his arms. "Get out."

The masked man pouted. "But I've _changed," _he whined. "It's been ten years, I'm a decent person, I swear."

"_Out_."

"Fine, I tried being nice." He looked to Gustave. "You saw me being nice, right?" At his son's dutiful nod, he turned back to Raoul with a wicked grin. "I like the real you much better. I wish you were him right now - and I'm sure you do too. You see, unlike your present self, he can actually hold his own when I do _this_!" With a triumphant roar, Erik reared up as a griffin, sending a blast of flame in Raoul's direction. The puny human promptly fled the room. _Don't burn everything don't burn everything don't burn everything - Gustave, remember that terrifying people is wrong._

"Okay."

_You won't tell your mother I did this, right?_

"Hmmm..." Gustave smirked. "I might."

_If you promise not to tell her, I'll give you a griffinback ride. _He bent down so as to make mounting easier.

His son beamed, scrambling onto him. "Deal."

.

"'Nuther," Christine slurred.

The bartender shook his head. "You've had more than enough. I'm cutting you off."

"N'nsense. M'husbin c'n have, c'n have...lotsh. More'n lotsh. He c'n have like...like twenny 'er mer. Gimme 'nuther, 'm fine." She attempted to tap the bar impatiently and ended up flopping her hand around, half a foot from her target.

He sighed. "With all due respect, lady, your husband's tolerance has nothing to do with your own. Look, you've only had two and you're already swaying, you're not getting any more."

"No'm not, 'm not swain," she protested, and promptly fell off her stool onto the floor. "'M okay!"

By the time Raoul walked in, that is, ten seconds later, she was snoring. Very loudly.

"Is...is that my wife?"

The bartender shrugged. "It's Christine Daae all right. Are you the man who can down twenty of these without blinking?" He lifted an emptied glass.

"Ex_cuse_ me?" Raoul snarled. "I'm not a -"

He raised his hands defensively. "Hey, hey, I'm not judging. She said that, trying to get more herself," said the bartender.

"That doesn't sound like Christine," said Raoul.

"_Snork_," said Christine.

Raoul prodded his wife with a foot. She rolled over limply, made a 'mnuh' sort of noise, and blinked open her eyes. "Oh h'lo dear," she mumbled.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I have absolutely no idea what's been going on tonight."

"There won't be a 'tonight' for much longer," the barman pointed out.

"I don't care." He slid onto a stool. "Let's prove my wife right."

.

_Having fun?_

"Wheeeee!"

_Good._

"Did you really almost kill someone?"

_..._

"Papa?"

_When you're older._

"But with the Loops, I'll never be older."

_You know what I mean. Hey, want me to do a corkscrew?_

"Do I!"

.

"Morning Bernie, coffee please  
Hurry up before I freeze  
I'll just take it black -" Meg Giry, upon entering the bar as part of her morning routine, stared at the other patrons. Raoul had gained quite the collection of glasses, and Christine, well...

"Didja know I gotta nose, iss right 'ere," she announced from the ground as if it were news, enthusiastically rubbing the inside of her elbow across her face.

Meg blinked. "Why are _they_ here and what is going on?"

"Madame here will be singing for Hammerstein, I think," Bernie the bartender replied, absentmindedly wiping out a glass. "As for your second question, I haven't a clue."

She shrugged. "Well, all right then. Now, coffee?"

"On it."

Several minutes and half a cup of caffeine later, Christine finally noticed the newcomer. "Meeeeeeg dun kill me dun kill me 'snot good Meg."

"Pardon me?"

"I dun like dy'n' Meg yur scary go 'way yur gon' kill me like y'did 'fore y'killed me twice an' 'sgonna hap'n 'gain why'dja like killin me Meg dy'n's not fun it isn't whyyyyyyy an' maybe yur th'real one now Meg an' that means 'm dead 'cause y'killed me an' Gussav saw't too an' he's jussa kid an' didja know kids're baby goasts?"

Meg groaned. "Go home, Christine, you're drunk."

At this, the vicomtesse started sobbing, and if she said anything else her words had become too indecipherable for comprehension.

"Raoul, your wife's crying."

"If I can still remember the griffin, I haven't had enough to drink yet," he mumbled.

Meg finished up her coffee and backed away. "Sorry to abandon you, Bernie, but..."

"Nah, don't worry, I'll deal with them somehow." He shooed her off. "Have a nice day."

"You too."

"We can only hope."

* * *

9.1 - And much explanations were had.

9.2-9.11 - In which Christine flails about with words in front of a bewildered, shocked, and definitely not Awake Raoul.

9.12 - Easy way to make sure you don't have a hard conversation: time it for the end of time.

9.13 - Are there any baseline secrets left anymore?

9.14 - Well, there was this one.

9.15 - Christine hasn't really had anything stronger than wine before. At least she isn't throwing up.


	10. Loops 10

_"Le miel est doux, mais l'abeille pique."_

_"Christine, pourquoi parlez-vous le francais?"_

_"Parce que."_

_"Ahem...honey is sweet, but the bee stings. Seriously though, why?"_

_"Parce que."_

_"Why?"_

_"Because. It's a French saying, I'm going to say it in French."_

_"You know, we're technically speaking French right now, it's just translated..."_

_"I DON'T CARE." *sniff*_

_"Are...are you okay?"_

_"Bees..."_

* * *

10.1

"Christine, Christine"

"Christine..."

Said girl froze. _It's_ her, _she's coming in -_

"Where in the world have you been hiding?  
Really, you were perfect  
I only wish I knew your secret  
Who is this new tutor?"

Christine said nothing.

"Christine?" Meg took her hand _took my hand took my _hand

_I should say something and this isn't _that_ Meg and it probably won't be _her_ for a very long time but but but I can't_

"Christine, are you all right?"

She sat there, frozen, pale.

"What's wrong?"

_What's wrong, Gustave was meant to be here, Meg's dressing room was empty, not another step not another word, give me the gun Meg, Christine Christine always_

"Christine?"

_She's not her she's not her she's not her she's not her but she could be but she's not she's not just go away I can't_

Meg ran from the room. "Mother, something's wrong with Christine!"

_Mother, no I'm not done yet, Christine Christine always Christine no no no no no she's gone she's gone thank god she's gone it's okay no one was no one was everything's fine fine she's gone_

"Say you'll share with me each Waking lifetime..."

_Say the word and I will Anchor you but no no no no no no no _no "no I I I"

Raoul frowned in the doorway. "You _are_ Awake, right?"

Christine drew her knees up to her chest and clutched them with everything she had. "I I I can't please no"

He knelt by her side. "My god, Christine, what happened?" She said nothing. "Christine?"

_Christine Christine always Christine_ shuddered. "Meg."

His eyes softened. "What did she do?"

"She sho- sh- k-killed me."

"Oh, Little Lotte," he murmured in sympathy, wrapping his arms around her. "You're alive, aren't you? You're safe. Nothing can harm you." He laughed. "My words will warm and calm you..."

"B-but..." Christine whimpered.

"Shh. This Meg didn't kill you. All but one of the Megs you've known didn't kill you."

"Two."

"Oh, right." He grimaced. "All right then, all but two."

"A-and one of them was baseline."

"And baseline was thousands of years ago, not now," he reminded gently. "Right now, you're as safe as you've ever been."

"I don't feel safe."

"Is there anything I can do to help with that?"

She leaned into him. "Stay with me."

"All right." He embraced her that much tighter. "Remember back when we were young and I was afraid of the dark? I thought that every shadow was being cast by some horrible monster. Do you remember what you said to me?"

"Mm."

"'Don't be scared of something that looks scary, specially if the scary thing might not really be very scary.'" He chuckled. "It was quite sweet for an eight-year-old."

Christine let out something that was either a choked sob or a subdued chuckle; her eyes glimmered with what might have been tears or perhaps laughter. "I'm pretty sure that wasn't part of our childhood."

Raoul flashed her an encouraging grin. "Well, maybe not this one, but _a_ childhood of ours, wouldn't you say?"

"I guess." Her smile was more hesitant. "Will you turn my head to thoughts of summertime?"

"Only if you let me lead you from your solitude." He gave her a squeeze. "After this loop, who knows when I'll next be Awake? I can't always be beside you, so you'll need to be able to cope on your own. Do you think we can work through these wide-eyed fears?"

"Mm-hm."

Raoul kissed her cheek. "That's all I ask of you."

* * *

10.2

Christine Awoke, in both senses of the word, beside a snoozing Raoul. She yawned, smiled, and snuggled closer to him. She was sleepy and warm and had someone to cuddle with and everything was right in the world.

"Christine?" he mumbled. Not so asleep after all, then.

"Mm?"

"You Awake?"

"Yeah." She yawned again and cracked open her eyes. "Check your loop memories yet?"

"What're you talking about?" he mumbled, clearly utterly confused.

Oh. Small-a awake. Jeez, Raoul, only say the word when you mean it. "Never mind."

"'Kay then."

Problem solved, Christine went back to sleep.

.

The door swung open, and the evil conniving light entering the room found its way to exactly where her eyes were. "Morning, sleepyheads! Time to get up and face the day!"

"Go 'way, Meg," Christine whined, still mostly asleep.

Raoul simply moaned.

The relentlessly cheerful blonde giggled. "C'mon, Christine, you've got rehearsal. Can't keep the Master waiting!"

The alarm bells from that last sentence shot her into a stiff sitting position. _If that Time Lord is here - oh. Right._ She remembered, with some faint embarrassment, that that was Meg's name for Erik in the latter years of the loop. Of course, it was entirely possible that the one had replaced the other. Only a matter of time, really. But it probably wasn't right now. She could only hope. And then her brain helpfully pointed out that, oh hey, Meg's here. You remember Meg, don't you? That nice girl who shot you twice.

At Christine's shudder, Meg frowned sympathetically. "Are you okay, Christine?"

_'Christine, Christine, always Christine!' _She took a deep breath. _I'm not going to panic this time, I'm not._ "I, um, had a nightmare. I'm fine, don't worry, I'll be out in a minute."

"Okay then, see you!" Smiling once more, Meg left, sashaying parts of her own routine down the hall.

Raoul had already returned to slumber, leaving Christine alone with her thoughts as she dressed. It hadn't been all that bad, really. The shock had numbed most of her pain and fear. She had had as much opportunity for last words with her loved ones as the situation had allowed. Even when she had died, well, then the Loops had started and she'd been given her life to live again. That was more than most dead people could say. And she had died plenty of times in plenty of ways - it was a hazard of Looping - and she wasn't afraid of, say, water, now was she? (As death went, she considered falling out of the Phantom's gondola and promptly drowning to have been just kind of sad.) Meg hadn't been in her right mind the first time, and the loop had started too late for anyone to do anything the second time. What Meg had been was her closest friend for years of her life, even if those years were millennia ago.

Christine took a moment to browse through her memories as she adjusted her skirts and strode through the building. Friendly neighborhood Opera Ghost, also taught Meg, no romantic drama, decided out of nowhere to come to Coney and took them with him, Raoul helped fund Phantasma, Meg treated fairly. Unusual variant, but not the strangest she'd seen by far. It did confirm that, as she'd thought, she was still friends with Meg for the present. Maybe, just maybe, it could stay that way.

Ooh, she had forgotten to Ping. Doing so as she reached her destination, Christine received a quick response of one. Probably not Raoul, which left Erik, Gustave, or a visitor.

The ambiguity was soon cleared. "Ah, Madame le Vicomtesse. Once upon another time, we thought that our tale soon would end..." Erik gave a quirk of a smile and leaned his arm on the piano before him, producing a cacophony of discordant notes. The noise faded away once he hastily lifted the offending limb from the keys.

Christine grinned. "It seems that we were wrong, as time keeps Looping on," she sang. "Hello, Erik. Interesting Variant, isn't it?"

To her surprise, he snorted. "This is no Variant, I just Woke Up quite early and thought I might help."

She folded her arms. "Help with what?"

"Meg." He shrugged. "The opportunity's there, if you want. If not, there are plenty of other things we could do together."

"Like?"

"Well, you do have a performance tonight, and we could always fit in one more rehearsal."

"What am I singing?"

He laughed. "Several things. For the moment, why don't you tell me?"

Christine reexamined her memory and - oh. _Oh_. "Have I told you how much I love you?"

"It can't hurt to say it again," he replied cheerfully. "The duet, then?" After a split-second of hesitation, she nodded with a grin, and Erik turned to face the door. "Meg, you can come in now!"

The blithe young woman walked over to them with a skip in her step. "We singing 'Together'?"

He inclined his head. "'Together Wherever We Go', from the top!"

Determined to push through her nervousness, Christine flashed _her friend_ a bright smile as Erik played the intro. The music swelled within her, and when the time came she eagerly let it loose.  
"Wherever we go  
Whatever we do  
We're gonna go through it together"

"We may not go far  
But sure as a star  
Wherever we are, it's together," Meg chimed in.

"Wherever I go, I know she goes"  
"Wherever I go, I know she goes"  
"No fits, no fights, no feuds, and no egos  
Amigos  
Together!..."

* * *

10.3

"Christine Daae could sing it, sir."

Oh god, did she see...

"What, a chorus girl?"

"Let her sing for you, Monsieur. She has been well taught."

Her fear was confirmed. Meg had flinched. Her friend of many individual Loops was, as of this moment, the woman who killed her.

"No, I couldn't possibly," she managed. "I'm just a chorus girl." And she walked away, leaving the new managers to their panic.

.

Christine sat alone in her room, head in hands. Something that wasn't a reflection moved in the mirror, but she paid it no mind. It grew, formed a hand to remove a white rectangle, and faded with an echo of footsteps.

_Dear Angel/Phantom/Opera Ghost/Erik,_

_Please don't kill anyone. Don't write any notes, and don't write any operas (or if you do, don't show or give them to anyone). Don't show yourself to anyone (Madame Giry is allowed, I suppose. No one else is. Meg and I are definitely _not_.) Ignore the Vicomte de Chagny. Don't come into this room. Don't show yourself to me. Don't talk to me. Don't sing to me. I don't care what you decide to do, as long as you don't do any of these. I don't care what you think, as long as you don't do any of these. I have a problem that I need to solve, and I don't want to have to worry about anything else. Please._

_I am not joking._

_Christine_

When she was sure he was gone, she sighed, adjusted the position of her arms, and waited. She couldn't think of anything better to do. Maybe finding and talking to Meg would make things worse. Maybe avoiding her would. Christine wanted to take the second option. Well, what she really wanted was for this not to be happening at all, but it was, and she didn't know what else to do besides wait. Why did they have to start Looping when she was alone? First Gustave, now Meg - although she supposed it might have been worse if Meg had come back to find the Erik who neglected her instead of the Phantom who hadn't yet. She sighed again.

"The world was hard, the world was mean  
To everyone but you, Christine."

She stiffened at the quiet voice behind her. Was that tremble due to fear? Sadness? Anger? Hate?

"And then I thought it - done  
And now it's all begun."

Christine knew she had to choose her words carefully. Meg wouldn't be armed right now, but still... "You - I - time is - oh God, I can't do this." She had really thought she was ready to talk to the real Meg. Clearly, she wasn't. That Phantasma loop had been wonderful, but at the end of the day that was the woman Meg could have been, not the woman she was. "I'm sorry, but I can't -" Standing slowly, she took a deep, shaky breath. "Sorry." With that, she fled from her own dressing room.

They had chosen to cancel the performance this time, so Raoul obviously wouldn't be there. Oh, if only her husband were with her. Well, the Unawake version wasn't appealing enough at the moment in contrast to all the trouble it always caused, so that left the Phantom, regardless of what her note had said.

The boat wasn't on the shore, which meant fortunately that he was home but unfortunately that she would have to swim. She couldn't bear to wait for him to come sooner or later. Accordingly, she waded into the frigid water, skirts and all, which proved to be a mistake.

.

"Wha - _Christine?_" When the Phantom heard panting from the shore, he had not been expecting _this_.

Several layers of clothing torn off due to weight, bedraggled and exhausted and soaked to the bone, Christine heaved herself from the water. "That was a bad idea. That was a very bad idea."

"You...swam here."

"Yep! Did you know that your lake is really, really big?"

"But your note..."

"Apparently I'm too terrified for what I wanted, so I guess I'll be with you because I've got nothing better to do and it's easy." Getting to her feet, she ticked off and performed her next words. "You've got a mask, check. Let's take it off now, check, no don't worry you're fine, reassurance check. Kiss - every - inch - of your - bad - side - to make - it - clear, check. _Good _en_ough_, if you're still messed up it's not my fault, yeah I don't care that I'm acting strange, I'm going to go huddle in bed now."

.

Voices were coming from outside the curtain. "...me to leave her alone. Not two hours later, she washes up half-naked, makes her way to the swan bed, and hasn't left or said a word since." The Phantom, of course.

"You think my daughter is involved?" Madame Giry, the only person who said Phantom ever spoke to in person before tonight.

"Looking at the note, I can't think otherwise." He chuckled. "Imagine that. Me, _getting_ a note."

The woman tsked. "I'll talk to her about it if you want, but I don't know it'll do any good. When friends fight, it's often best to let them calm down on their own. I'll try, though, for you." Footsteps faded.

Christine laughed. Ah, yes, Meg, her dear old friend. They had done such friendly things together the last time they met. Like murder. That had been _such_ fun, now hadn't it.

The curtain ascended. "You were listening, then. Are you all right?" Erik frowned.

"Meg and I haven't been friends for _ages_."

"Now Christine, it, um, might seem like that right now, but, um -" The Phantom didn't really do 'comforting' or, for that matter, 'normal conversation'.

"Trust me, she -" Christine sighed. "I'm just making this worse, aren't I? You know what? Just get in here." She patted the blankets beside her.

Dumbfounded, he stared at her. "Excuse me?"

She nodded firmly. "You heard me. I want snuggles - at the very least - and I want _lots_ of them."

"But..."

"Damn you and your self-confidence issues. Look, you're fine, I swear. I don't care at all about what you look like, it's only a huge problem because you're making it one. I won't mind if you won't, alright?" She offered him a smile.

Apparently he didn't want it, because he gave it right back. "A...alright."

.

A few days later, Christine received a note from Meg by way of Madame Giry.

_Christine,  
What did you tell Mother? She's been nagging me to stop being mad at you.  
Meg_

_Meg,  
I told her nothing. I made a passing mention of you to the Phantom, that's all. Go do your own thing.  
Christine_

_Christine,  
So _that's_ where you are. With _him_. I should have known.  
Meg_

_Meg,  
Don't you come down here.  
Christine_

_Christine,  
Why would I? He'd probably just snarl at me and make me leave. Speaking of which, why is it that only the two of us remember anything?  
Meg_

_Meg,  
Long story.  
Christine_

_Christine,  
Mind explaining?  
Meg_

_Meg,  
As a matter of fact, I do mind.  
Christine_

_Christine,  
Please. I don't know what happened, and I think you do. __Why did this happen? How is this possible? Just tell me what's going on, and I'll leave you to your _precious_ Phantom.  
Meg_

_Meg,  
I'm sorry. I just can't handle this right now.  
Christine_

_Christine,  
Fine, I suppose that's understandable, but come _on_, Christine. Can you just tell me why we're in the past?  
Meg_

_Meg,  
Time is broken. If you want elaboration, talk to Raoul, the Phantom, or Gustave. Wait until they come to you about it, though, as they won't always know. It might take a few decades. Could you please leave me alone?  
Christine_

_Christine,  
What do you mean by a few decades? You seem to be treating it as something small.  
Meg_

_Meg,  
Perspectives change over the millennia. Would you mind?  
Christine_

_Christine,  
You can stop writing back whenever you like, you dismissive secret-keeping little _chienne_.  
Meg_

Garce,  
You're_ calling _me_ a _chienne_? That's hilarious.  
Christine_

Salope,  
Allez vous faire foutre.  
_Meg_

As she sealed and handed the note to her mother, Meg reflected that she had probably ruined her chances of getting answers. Well, screw that and screw Christine. Judging by what she had read, she'd have all the time in the world to figure this out without any help from _her_.

* * *

10.1 - Everyone is having lots of fun!

10.2 - She needed that.

10.3 - Oh yeah, things are going great.


	11. Loops 11

_"Good talk saves the Meg."  
"Darling, would you mind?"  
"Would you get over it, dear?"_

* * *

"Mother said I'd find you here."

"Miss Giry." Raoul looked up from his single empty glass (which had unfortunately been water. Christine had wanted it so, and he had conceded that this would be easier if he weren't drunk as a lord, or rather a vicomte) to meet her gaze. "Do you know where you are?"

"I…" Her breath caught, then she smiled bitterly. "Hell, I imagine."

"Around here, they call it our branch of Yggdrasil. It's where people end up when the multiverse is broken. The hopeless, the desperate...had better try and find some hope, seeing as how they'll be Looping for what might well be forever."

She frowned. "You seem to be a regular."

He shook his head. "Me, I've barely learned the ropes. Imagine spending millions of years living a stretch of time over and over… I'm sure you have plenty of questions."

"Christine said something about that, the little I could get out of her."

"Actually, she's our Anchor - the only one guaranteed to remember the time loops. It comes and goes for the rest of us."

"Oh."

"I would advise you avoid her, at least for a while."

"Trust me, that won't be a problem." Meg snorted. "You seem awfully calm around me."

"It's been so many years that I've lost track. I've been in your position several times - at least, I've gained your memories of everything up to when Christine and I came to Phantasma." Raoul considered for a moment. "You know, I believe I've been you more often than you have, at this point. Huh."

"Wait, what? How?"

"When the loop resets, it's not always perfect." He chuckled. "You should have seen La Carlotta of the Opera. In any case, it wasn't really your fault, it was Erik's. When you think long enough about it, you can essentially blame him for everything."

"Erik?"

"The Phantom," he clarified, raising an eyebrow. "What, over ten years with him and he never told you his name? That's just like him. He wants Christine, he wants music, and everything else can go to hell. He's been getting better with time, _but_…"

Meg laughed despite herself. "He spent ten years moping. At the time, it seemed ridiculously annoying, but now it just seems ridiculous."

"Part of the Loops is that sometimes our universe gets mixed up with other ones. Picture him in a world that never had a Christine."

"That would be _torture_."

"It was, believe me. He was so snappy - granted, it might have been something else, but I'm sure at least part of it was withdrawal."

"Withdrawal," Meg repeated, eyes lighting up. "That's it exactly, the man's addicted to her."

He slapped the counter. "He is! You're absolutely right."

"You know what we need?"

"What?"

Beaming, she leaned forward. "We need to have an _intervention_."

"Oh, _yes_." Raoul gained a grin of manic glee to match hers.

.

"...So that's why you completely and utterly fail as a human being," Raoul concluded. "Now if you'll excuse me, Christine and I will be returning to France. If you could please give us our large sum of money?"

The Phantom frowned. "Now hold on -"

"I'll handle it," Meg said. "Mother, can you continue this conversation? Thanks." She followed Raoul out of the room.

The two walked in silence for a while. "Why did we do this again?"

Raoul shrugged. "Did it help?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe."

"There you go, then." He gave her a smile. "Any time I'm Awake and you need me, I'll be there. We can complain about Erik some more."

She returned it. "I'd like that."

* * *

11.2

"...and the next note he sent us announced his retirement."

"Retirement, 'sif he really had a job inna first place." After tossing back the remainder of her drink, Meg giggled. "Okay, I got one. Couple Loops ago, I was switched with Christine. So when -"

"Question." Raoul raised an unsteady finger. "Would that mean the drinking things that hafta do with either of you are switched too, or what?"

"Yeah, sure, why not. _So when_ he had me down in his lair an' all, an', y'know, doing the whole singing bit 'bout needing me -"

Raoul drank twice.

"I stuck out my tongue at him, an' then I slapped him. He juss stared at me then, fer least a minute, he wasn't 'specting that at all, it was great."

And again.

"An' then he finally realized that I'd knocked off his mask, an' he started whimper-singing 'bout his ugliness, an' his hand went to his face. An' _then_ he realized that his face was all healed, because I did a whatsit...um...y'know, some sorta magic thing, I forget what exackly it was. Thing. An' then he juss kinda froze up, like his brain juss shut down. So then I -"

Two more, and Raoul spit out his third. "E-erik? What're you doing here?"

"I do own the place, you know, since it's part of Phantasma. It shouldn't be all that surprising." The masked man rolled his eyes. "For the last time, if you two are going to turn my Unawake self into a drinking game, you'll have to do it somewhere that isn't my _own bar._"

"But -" Raoul protested.

"Or do I need to inform Christine that you've started drinking again?"

"I haven't binna drunk since baseline," he muttered. "Fine, we'll go."

As the two wobbled out dejectedly, Meg stopped, placed one hand on her friend's arm, and counted down from three with the other. The pair spun around to contort their faces at Erik. They then stumbled out with springs in their steps, cackling at the tops of their lungs as if that had been the funniest joke in the world.

Erik shook his head with a resigned sigh. "I'll have to talk with them again when they're sober."

"Uh, sir?" Bernie asked from behind the counter. "Did you really -"

"If you finish that sentence, you're fired."

"Yessir."

* * *

11.3

"Christine, why are we in Eiken?" Erik sighed.

"I'm pretty sure it was because Meg got her hands on the Fourth Key, then tried to turn it into another you who would appreciate her."

"But...I don't...what?"

"My thoughts exactly. Do you even count as a weapon?" Christine considered the question. "Maybe, but still." She frowned at him. "You okay?"

"I...how does...what..._why_?"

"Oh joy, I broke him."

* * *

11.4

When Professor Yallahan strode into the classroom, Raoul failed to completely stifle a laugh, which turned some heads.  
"Is there a problem, mister...?"

"Raoul Huntington." At least according to his loop memories. Hm. If he said what was on his mind, it would be funny, but he just might be expelled. Best not to limit his options this early in the Loop, he figured. "There's no problem, sir, sorry."

The professor glared at him suspiciously for a few seconds, then seemed to decide that he wasn't worth his time. "Well, then. Look at you, just come here  
Innocent, unaware  
When you take a law career  
Blood is in the water

Look at you, wide-eyed youths  
Oblivious, pitiful  
Law's a waste, that's the truth  
If blood's not in the water

One or two might be a shark  
Come end of the year  
Your morals cold and dark  
Seek blood in law - hear?  
Red and raw - hear?

Most will lose, four will win  
And work for me, tooth and claw  
Very well, let's begin  
Blood is in the water..."

.

Meg Woods walked out of class alongside Raoul Huntington (the Third), who was apparently her ex-boyfriend and the reason she had come here in the first place. Yeah, right. She was so freaking grateful to his Unawake self for breaking up with her instead of proposing. That would not have been fun. "What was so funny?"

His eyes danced. "What wasn't funny? I mean, the cruel teacher who hits on his innocent, much younger student? Erik makes for a great Professor Y."

"I...didn't see him hitting on anyone?"

"Oh, you haven't seen the Hub backup -" He hmphed. "I don't have it on me right now, but the next time we have the opportunity I will show you that movie. Okay, so Elle - the girl you're replacing - becomes one of Callahan's elite interns like he was talking about in class. He earns her trust, then tries to seduce her. A lot of other things were happening, of course, but those aren't quite so relevant to my point."

Meg snickered. "Sounds like Mister Opera Ghost to me."

"Erik does have a knack for replacing that kind of person, I think Yggdrasil likes annoying him. Pity he's not Awake, though. Any ideas for what you want to do with this loop?"

She shrugged. "Well, since I'm already at Harvard, I might as well try being a lawyer."

He grinned. "Sounds as good a plan as any to me -"

"Meg."

Startled, she spun around only to stiffen at the sight of the woman before her. "Christine."

The two glared at each other for a few tense seconds: the blonde in the neon pink tank top and the brunette in the severe black pantsuit. (Although both of them would have preferred dresses, this was what they had Woken Up in. Besides, the dresses of circa 1900 weren't exactly Harvard material, if you'll pardon the pun.)

And then Christine Kensington turned her gaze to her boyfriend. "Come on, Raoul, we're going." Heels clicking, she strode off without looking back. Raoul darted Meg an apologetic glance and followed.

.

"Christine, be reasonable -"

"She killed me!"

"One, she wasn't exactly in her right mind at the time. Two, I thought we agreed that it was all Erik's fault. Three, he's killed me plenty of times and you don't see me complaining. We both know that it really isn't as -"

"Shut up, Raoul."

He drew himself up, narrowing his eyes. "I've been civil up to now, but I'm certain you remember our fights way back when, in the years before Phantasma. You don't want this to turn into one of those, do you?"

"No, we're _not_ having this fight again. Oh, we'll be snapping at each other for the rest of the loop, won't we?" she huffed.  
"Christine," Raoul said softly, "you two used to be friends. It could happen again."  
"What do you two even do together?"  
He shrugged. "All sorts of things, but mostly we complain about Erik. It's quite cathartic."  
Chuckling, she rolled her eyes. "Of course you do."  
"You could join us sometimes, if he does something particularly annoying."  
She hesitated. "I'll think about it."

* * *

11.5

Gustava Giry froze mid-high kick upon Awaking. In an agonizingly long moment of terror, he absorbed the audience's appreciative cheers and devouring gazes. Finally, with a piercing shriek, he fled from the stage.

Later, one of the Ooh La La Girl's fellow dancers approached the diva's dressing room, intending to check on her friend. As she drew nearer the door, she began to hear a muffled "ew ew ew ew ew ew ew" and elected to give the girl some space.

* * *

11.6

"...Well, that went better than I thought it would."

"I think we should have had this talk a long time ago," Erik mused.

Meg shook her head. "Nah, if we had it would've mostly consisted of me yelling at you."

"Where did that go, anyway? Faded away with time?"

She smirked. "Faded away through several consecutive loops of ranting at Unawake versions of you."

"That would do it." He hesitated. "If you'd like, I could be your teacher again? Properly, this time."

Her grin melted into a frown, her brow gently furrowing in an - almost - rueful way. "No," she replied. "If you think that's what I want from you, you really don't know me that well." Turning on her heel, she headed to one of the boats (he always made sure to have at least two these days, now that he had regular visitors).

"Maybe I'd like to know you better, then."

She regarded him with a long, cool look. "I'll get back to you on that."

As she left, he heaved a sigh and returned to his latest reworking of Don Juan. He had been attempting a rap version this time, not necessarily because he liked rap - he decidedly did not - but because it was about as different as one could get from opera. By the looks of it, he also had nothing better to do with this Loop. Glancing over what he'd written so far, he groaned. Even with his own copious skills doubtlessly increasing the quality tenfold, this didn't deserve to be called "music." How anyone could think otherwise was a mystery to him.

"By the way," Meg offered over her shoulder, "I saw some of what you're writing. I like it; it looks good. Good luck on your work." She raised the pole in preparation to push herself away.

Erik groaned again. "Yes, all right, you told me something you knew I wouldn't like to hear, so you could convey how annoyed you were at my suggestion. You made your point."

Turning to face him, she cocked her head in genuine puzzlement. "What? No, I honestly meant that."

"Oh." After a pause, he looked down his nose at her. "I wash my hands of you, you cretinous child." There was perhaps a trifle too much sparkle in his eyes to be fully serious.

"And I you, you fusty freak," she teased, likewise fudging the line between insult and affection. "Okay, I'm leaving for real now. See you."

"_A la prochaine, mademoiselle_."

* * *

11.7

Smiling softly at the lapping waves, Meg Giry dangled her legs off the end of the pier. She wouldn't define herself by other people anymore. She wasn't Christine's friend, and she wasn't Christine's killer. She wasn't her mother's daughter. She wasn't various men's plaything. She wasn't the Master's - wasn't _Erik's_ wannabe student. She wasn't anyone's. She didn't need other people anyway, because it wasn't like that ever ended well for her. She would be her own, only her own, and see how that worked out. She could sing. She could dance. She could argue twenty-first-century American law, whatever good that did her. And she could _swim_.

Meg stood and flipped into the dark water. Her skin tingled with the frigidity of the waves, her eyes stung with the sharp salt tang of the ocean, her heart pulsed in time with the kicking of her legs. She grinned, and laughed a bubbly laugh, and tasted the water rushing into her mouth. She surfaced to spit it out in a fountain, then resubmerged. Freedom was saltwater before a summer sunrise, and it was glorious -

"Miss Giry?" The voice, distorted and muffled by the heaving tide, came from above, accompanied by a Ping.

She answered it reflexively. Her head bobbed up, and she couldn't see anything. Oh, wait, duh. She pushed aside the wall of drenched hair, rubbed the salt from her eyes, and blinked. "_Gustave?_ What do you want?"

He shifted his weight awkwardly, the wooden slats of the pier creaking beneath him. "Miss Giry, why do grownups like...um... sexy things?"

Oh Lord no. "...Why don't you ask your parents?" Seriously. What kind of boy, curious about sex, comes to ask the woman who must have seriously traumatized him? It made no sense.

"I tried," he protested, "but Papa hasn't been Awake yet since I started wanting to know, Father told me to ask Mother, and Mother plugged her ears and wailed about me not being her baby boy anymore. Besides, you know a lot about it, don't you?"

"I, uh... Try your father again or something. The only Talk I feel comfortable giving is the loops and the trees, not the birds and the bees." She moved to duck her head into the water once more.

"Also." Gustave fidgeted, and she impatiently craned her neck at him once more. "I, um, I've been to Coney Island a lot of times, and I still haven't learned how to swim yet. Could you show me?"

She stared at him. "But I shot your mother."

He nodded. "I know she doesn't like you, but I won't tell if you won't."

"Look, kid, that's not the -" Meg sighed. "What's your deal with me, anyway? Or rather, the lack of one?"

"Well, when the, um, thing happened, I was ten and you were more than ten. Now you're lots, and I'm even more lots, and you haven't done anything like that since then," he reasoned. "And besides, I've talked to you when you weren't Awake or upset, and you're nice."

Her eyes widened. Ah, children. Christine wouldn't need to worry about Gustave losing his innocence for a long time. Heaving herself from the sea, she flashed the boy a smile. "Let's head over to shallower water, why don't we?" As they walked along the dock, she began humming Bathing Beauty before backtracking to another tune. Things were looking up.

* * *

11.1 - Who doesn't like to complain about Erik?

11.2 - Drinking games are fun!

11.3 - Eiken is, for the purposes of Yggdrasil, a Punishment Loop: not only is it annoying, but all your Looping abilities are locked down. The Fourth Key is an object from Keys to the Kingdom that can turn into any weapon. Crashing a loop is generally not recommended.

11.4 - Legally Blonde!

11.5 - Ten years old is just a few years past "cooties" age, after all.

11.6 - Sometimes, by saying the wrong thing, you say the right thing.

11.7 - Technically, if you ask a Looper their age, "lots" is a perfectly valid answer.


	12. Loops 12

_(Alibi27)_

_"To sing or not to sing..."_  
_*snicker*_  
_"What? That's seriously a question!"_

* * *

12.1

Ignoring her husband, Christine frowned at her son, who looked suspiciously like a young, non-deformed Erik. A Ping confirmed that someone was Awake, and neither of the two before her seemed likely, based on their behavior...

Abruptly, she strode out of the room and found her way to the masked Gustave.

"Hello, mother," he grinned.

She sighed in relief before growing stern. "You are not to look at your Loop memories even once, young man, or else you will be grounded. For ten loops in a row," she added, determined to provide sufficient discouragement.

"But then I'll be confused for the rest of this one." He pouted.

"Fake amnesia."

_"Fine," _he whined.

* * *

12.2

Christine looked up from the piano to notice a flyer in Erik's hand.

_Skprunx_ went the keys as her head slammed into them. "You're not going to, are you?"

"Oh, but I am."

_Skprunx_.

"No, Erik."

"In fact, I've already audi-"

_Skprunx_.

"Just no."

"Why not? It will be fun," he protested.

_Skprunx_. Her forehead was starting to hurt.

"Besides, I've already made it in."

_Skprunx_.

"As what?" she sighed.

"Exactly what you're thinking," Erik said smugly.

_Skprunx_.

"Erik, it's just ridiculous," she insisted, massaging her throbbing temples.

"Well, it's also a bit late to protest, isn't it?"

_Skprunx_.

"My apologies for thinking it might be fun to play myself on Broadway."

Seeing no options and being the proud owner of a aching head, Christine groaned in defeat. "Fine, then. When's the first performance?"

* * *

12.3

"Christine Daae could sing it -" Madame Giry was struck dumb as the Loop began, and she was far from the only one.

"What?" Christine wondered. "What is it - oh." About a foot to her right stood another Christine. "Oh, joy. Hello everyone, there are apparently now two of me." She waved, absentmindedly sending out a Ping. One answer. Must be Raoul, if not a visitor. The other her didn't seem nearly calm enough when faced with one of Yggdrasil's quirks, Meg certainly seemed her baseline self, Gustave wasn't alive yet, and the Phantom...

"Hey, Phantom of the Opera, I know you're around here somewhere," she announced. "If our esteemed Opera Ghost could just come out, I've got a present for you."

Irresistibly lured by his love, said person cautiously emerged from the shadows.

Christine took Christine by the shoulders and thrust her in the Phantom's general direction. "Take her now, take her and go to America - all those Americans are going to love you. Lighten up, he's your Angel of Music," she cheerfully confided to her panicked double. "Phantom, you just try not to yell at her too much. She doesn't much like it. Now go have fun together." She waved her hands in a 'shoo' motion. Seizing his new gift Christine by the hand, the Phantom slowly edged out of sight. She glanced around at all the faces frozen into stunned silence. "Well?" Christine demanded, grinning. "Isn't anyone going to thank me? I did just solve all the problems ever, you know." She promptly plunged into an a capella rendition of "Think of Me", since she already had a captive audience and might as well.

* * *

12.4

"Je remue le ciel, le jour, la nuit -"

"Meg."

"Je danse avec le vent, la pluie -"

"_Meg_."

"Un peu d'amour, un brin de miel -"

"_Meg Giry!_" Erik roared.

Said girl glared at him, dropping her pose unceremoniously. She stalked to the computer, paused the blaring music with a resentful _click_, and slumped against the wall, arms crossed, still glaring. "We," Meg spat, "are in a Hub loop. We've got about a century of new music to explore and who knows how much time to access it before it goes away with the loop. And yet every time I find a song I like and want to dance to, you take it away from me."

"We," Erik insisted, "are in a Hub loop. There is plenty of music to find, but a great deal of it is not _good_ music."

"In your eyes, everything from the twenties on is trash!"

"That's not true."

"Everything from twenties on, not counting our backups, a select few other musicals, or anything done in the style of pre-twenties."

Erik said nothing.

"We," Raoul groaned, "are in a Hub loop, full of everything that implies, and yet we've done nothing for two days but listen to and argue over songs. There's more to life than music, you know!"

"Blasphemy," Christine asserted, which prompted a general smattering of laughter from the three opera singers, which in turn gave rise to comments along the lines of "the fop knows not of what he speaks," and "shun the unbeliever."

Raoul was not amused. "I need some air," he muttered, which gave Christine pause.

"Raoul, wait," she protested as he turned for the door. "We didn't mean it like that."

"I don't see any other way to take it. I'm going to take a walk, and if anyone wants to join me in this modern world they are absolutely welcome." When no one took him up on his offer, he let out a good-humored, exaggerated sigh. "You're all obsessed, I swear."

"Spoilsport." Meg stuck out her tongue at the retreating figure, earning many giggles.

* * *

12.5

"I'm just a sweet transvestite  
From Transsexual, Transyl -"  
Mid-pelvic thrust, the masked mad scientist froze. "Oh, hell."

"Good, you're Awake." Christine Weiss relaxed. "That was..." She shook her head in lieu of an end to her sentence.

Erik N. Furter discovered he was wearing a corset and fishnet stockings. "Get me out of these things!"

"Really? Yay!" Columbia squealed, rushing over to reach for the corset ties.

"Wait, no, I didn't mean - stop it, get _away_ from me -" He shrank from her hands, taking a few steps back.

"You're so wimpy now," she pouted, still advancing on him. "What happened to you?"

"I came to my senses." Shuddering, he fled the room as fast as he could in high heels.

Once he was gone, Christine glanced at Raoul Majors. "That was interesting."

"It's a shame we didn't think fast enough to take a picture."

"That's what you think." She held up a camera.

He grinned. "Blackmail?"

"Blackmail."

* * *

12.6

_December 24, 1823_

It wasn't the first time Christine had Awoken as a young child, nor was it the first time she had Awoken doing manual labor. It was, however, the first time she had Awoken to both.

"Move, darn it!" she commanded, tugging on the handle of the water-filled bucket with her full strength, which wasn't all that much. Oh, sure, she could always use out-of-Loop powers to carry it easily, but the bucket had given her a challenge and she wasn't going to give in now.

A large hand reached down and took the weight of the bucket from her. She craned her neck up to stare at this mysterious helpful stranger. Despite the darkness of the night, she could make out a shock of white hair, and she frowned. She had a nagging feeling she knew this place. Well, time to check her Loop memories...

"My child, what you are carrying is very heavy for you," the man said in French (French! That certainly didn't happen every Fused Loop), squinting down at her. He seemed confused. "First Javert and now Cosette," he muttered, almost too softly for her to hear. "Where have they gone, and who are these people? Is it just some trick of the repetitions?"

Christine couldn't help it. She squealed.

The man stared at her. "What is it?"

"You're Jean Valjean, and you're Looping! And I get to give you the Speech!" She grinned. "Don't you want to know why time is repeating?"

The bucket fell to the ground with a clatter and a splash. "You know about that?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. Hang on..." She pulled a flashlight from her Pocket, turned it on, and likewise retrieved a certain book. Taking a seat on a tree root, she flipped the pages until she found the spot she wanted, then pointed at it triumphantly. "Look at that, monsieur! Oh, and my name's Christine Daaé. I think I already know yours."

Valjean knelt beside her and glanced over the indicated page, wholly bewildered. "'Cosette, as we have said, was not frightened' - Cosette!" he exclaimed, taking in the rest of the chapter in amazement before staring at the cover. "Where did you get such a book? Who is this 'Victor Hugo' and by what means did he learn this?"

Christine laughed. "It's a really long story, but basically, there's this computer -" She frowned. "Wait, you don't know what that is. To think that I didn't know that either, once! Just goes to show you how much the Loops can change a person, I guess. Are you cold? I'm cold," she declared, shivering in her rags. She quickly retrieved a quilt from her Pocket and wrapped it around herself. "That's much better. Drat, I'm not really doing much in the way of explaining, am I?" She sighed. "Okay, are you familiar with Norse mythology?"

Struck dumb by the peculiarity of the situation, Valjean shook his head.

"No, of course you aren't; you were never really educated, were you? Though it's not like I had much better. So there's this giant tree, okay? It's enormous, and it's magic..."

.

"...and you know, someone in the Hub turned your backup into a musical."

"Is that why we keep having these...Variants, you said?...where we sing?"

Christine shrugged. "The other way around, really, the musical variants led to the musical backup. My point is, when you visit us in the Populaire Loop - or whatever we end up calling it - you should expect a show."

He chuckled. "All right then."

"Hey, didn't you say earlier that some other people were different? I probably know them."

Valjean nodded slowly. "Javert, yes. His name was -"

"Ooh, let me guess!" she chirped. "Let's see, we don't have much in the way of policemen at the Opera, at least none that I'd know, so... Andre? Firmin? Probably not. Piangi - ooh, no, definitely not Piangi, he's doing something else." She giggled. "Hm, Erik doesn't have much of a standard last name. Is it Inspector Destler? Claudin? Hang on, I _know_ he's had others."

He raised an eyebrow. "Would one of those names of his be Chagny?"

The Lark gaped. "Oh. _Ohhhhh_. I didn't even think of that. Gosh, that'll be interesting! He'd better be Awake, though." She sent out a Ping. After a few seconds, she got one back. "He's probably Awake."

"How do you know that?"

"Didn't you notice the - oh, right, I haven't actually taught you how to recognize a Ping. Or to make one, for that matter. We should - should prob'ly do that now," she mumbled, slumping.

"Mm-_hm_." Valjean looked her over, figuring he should check with her before she fell asleep. "Would you prefer to deal with the Thenardiers tonight?"

She shook her head, sliding off of the tree root and straight onto the sketches she had made in the dirt. Thankfully, the quilt was thick enough to turn a painful _thunk_ into a padded _flumpf_. "They're not the Thenarrs, they got 'placed too...nah, less do it 'morrow."

"Might you be feeling a bit tired, then?" he suggested, amused.

"Noooo." Her eyes fluttered shut. "'M not sleepy at all..." For all of her cheer and her mental age, her body was still that of an eight-year-old in poor condition, and she couldn't fight back sleep forever. The 'all' became a yawn, which trailed off into the steady breathing of slumber.

Jean Valjean bestowed a gentle smile on the strange little girl with all the answers. She was no Cosette, of course, but he had gone without his daughter in plenty of other...Loops, she had called them. He could easily survive another eighteen years with this Christine by his side. Which reminded him... He picked up her remarkably thick book and her magical light-making object, adjusted his position against a tree trunk, and flipped to the first page of the story.

_Volume One: Fantine. Book First: A Just Man. Chapter One: M. Myriel.  
__In 1815, M. Charles-Francois-Bienvenu Myriel was Bishop of Digne..._

.

_December 25, 1823_

The innkeeper's wife met them at the door: a red-ringleted Italian woman in furs who was most certainly not Madame Thenardier.

"I've brought the water like you wanted, madame Piangi," Christine declared, attempting and failing to lift the bucket for emphasis.

The woman drew herself up in indignation. "Thou wert supposed to be back last night! And wert thou? No! A paying lodger slighted because of thee, miserable girl! - and how many times have I told thee to call me La Carlotta? The Academie Royale de Musique will never know to make me the star of the opera if no one treats me like one!" At Christine's snicker, Carlotta's simmering anger rose to a boil, and she whirled about to face the inn's interior. "_Ubaldo!_" she shrieked. "I have _had_ it with the girl! I'm done! Either she goes or I go, and I'll be taking the doggy with me!"

"I wouldn't mind taking her off your hands, madame," Valjean offered as monsieur Piangi made his way to the door.

The innkeeper gave Valjean a cursory glance. "Go ahead. I never liked the girl anyway." He turned on his heel and reentered the building.

"Bye-bye, Lotte, and may I never see thee again!" Carlotta followed her husband in, slamming the door behind her.

"I really was not expecting it to be that easy," Valjean noted. "And didn't you say your name was Christine?"

"Yes, but they call me Lotte, like how Euphrasie gets called Cosette."

"Of course."

Christine shrugged. "You know, in all my time, those two have never once liked me. Besides, they're just awful parents. You might think they treat me so poorly because they're doting on their real daughters? That's not true at _all_. Carlotta gets furs and we get rags."

"Uh-huh," a voice agreed, and the pair looked up to find two young girls peeking from behind the corner of the inn. "Mama's mean, and Papa lets her," said the first, a scrawny brunette in worn clothes.

The second, near-identical save for her blond hair and looking about a year older, chimed in, "She says she's gonna be an opera singer and we just get in the way."

"Who's he, where are you going, and can we come?" the first pleaded.

"What are your names?" Valjean asked.

"That's Azelma -" Christine pointed, "and that one's Meg." She caught his gaze meaningfully, and he nodded slowly.

"Well, Azelma, Meg, you may call me Jean Mathieu. I suppose you may come with us, if you're certain your parents shan't mind?"

Meg made a face. "They'll probably be glad to not have to deal with us anymore."

"All right, then." He nodded to the girls. "Let us be off."

.

_March 10, 1824_

Valjean had acquiesced to Christine's desire to more-or-less follow his original course. The aim was twofold: to let her explore the very places she had read of, and to meet up with this Raoul. Since they were unsure as to the inspector's whereabouts at most any given moment, their best recourse was not to stray too far from baseline and hope that he did the same. That was how the four found themselves at the Gorbeau place in Paris, counting down the days. After he had finished the book, Christine had coaxed him into purchasing a violin. They spent their remaining evenings learning it together. Sometimes she would raise her voice in song to accompany his uncertain playing; or Azelma, not to be left out, would contribute the notes of a little tin whistle she had begged her way into getting; or Meg would dance to their tunes (which always lent Christine a bittersweet air); or all four would join in. All in all, it was great fun.

The day came at last. He still was not sure what he had done to reveal himself, but the beggar by the well was without a doubt a policeman and not the real beggar. Valjean examined the disguised Chagny from a distance, though each step brought him nearer. Well, he did seem to have the air of waiting for someone, although that did nothing to suggest what he might do once that someone was found.

There was nothing to do but go up to him. Valjean handed the man a couple of sous, and received a moment's piercing stare in exchange, as Javert always did. He half expected to recognize the policeman he knew, but of course that didn't happen; according to Christine, being replaced meant that the Javert he knew didn't exist at all for this loop.

He nodded to the officer in rags, carefully, as if the one were not Jean Valjean and the other were not Inspector Chagny, and then he continued on his walk. But his thoughts were troubled now, lacking the amiability they had held before he met Chagny eye to eye. True, it may not have been Javert before him, but the Chagny had all of the man's hunger for justice. That had not been the gaze of a good-natured vicomte. He made one last effort: while looking sidelong at the inspector, he sent out a Ping like he had been taught. There was no reaction, and now he knew for sure.

.

Chagny came faster than Javert had; that very night, Valjean heard footsteps down the hall. The girls had retired early, and he now regretted allowing their practice to distract him from telling Christine of the day's discovery. As he extinguished the candles, he hoped fervently that the Lark was truly fast asleep -

She stirred. He crept to the bed, intending to try and convey the importance of remaining quiet, but it was too late. She had spied the twinkling of Chagny's candle through the keyhole, and knowing what it meant, leapt to her feet. Valjean could not stop her in time while maintaining silence. He watched in dismay as she threw open the door and flung herself on the inspector.

"Oh, Raoul, Raoul!" she exclaimed, though softly so as not to wake the others. "I knew you would come! Look, do you see that it is Jean Valjean in this room with me? He's Looping now, I tell you, and isn't that wonderful? - Raoul?"

But he was stiff under her caresses, and his expression had fixed itself into a sneer. "Wonderful indeed, Valjean," he said, fastening his arms around her. "Thou shouldst have taken better care that the child keep quiet." He lowered his voice for Christine's ears alone. "This man is a dangerous criminal, Mademoiselle, despite what he may have told you. You are lucky I found him out, or you soon would have regretted trusting him. The minds of children like you are too easily swayed."

Suddenly unsure that he was Awake, she shook her head vehemently. "No, monsieur, you're wrong about him!" As she tried to squirm out of his grasp, her arm flew free and collided with his face.

"Ah!" he cried, caught entirely by surprise, and only clutched her the harder. His nails dug into her flesh through her black dress. "Thou ungrateful brat!"

"B-brat?" Christine whimpered, her worry confirmed. "He's not Awake, is he. He was never Awake. There's someone else - and oh God I messed this up bad, didn't I?" She made a face. "Just run for it. I can handle myself fine. I'll meet you at the next place, okay?"

The next place - she meant the convent. He shook his head. "I won't leave you."

"How touching." Raoul's eyes glittered with anger, and he drew Christine closer to him. "I have the girl, and so I have thee. Now, wilt thou come quietly?"

"Nope!" Christine crowed, and brought him down with a well-positioned kick. "Sorry, Raoul, but you totally started it. If you Wake Up later, I want an apology. Do we have any rope?" she asked over the policeman's groans.

Valjean looked about the room. "No." He strode to the window and began tearing the curtain into strips. "Although this should do."

"That works, yeah." Raoul was beginning to recover, so she gave him another kick. "Little people know  
When little people fight  
We may look easy pickings  
But we've got some bite!" She giggled.

As Valjean began tying Chagny to the bed, he raised an eyebrow at Christine. "What was that? English?"

"Mm-hm!" she agreed, darting about the room to stow their few possessions in her Pocket.

"Why?"

She paused to stick out her tongue at the inspector. "Because singing 'it's the fault of Voltaire' is well and good, but the English version works a lot better for this. I'll tell you what it means when we're on our way. Where are we going, anyway? To the -"

"Not in front of your friend here," he reminded her.

"Oh, right." She wrinkled her nose at Raoul.

"Lotte?"

Christine's eyes shot to Meg, who had pushed off the blankets and was dangling her legs over the side of the bed. "When did you wake up?"

"When thou wert kicking that man in the -"

"Ah. Right. Yes."

"What was he doing here? Is he a bad man?" Meg asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

Glaring daggers at them, the 'bad man' said something unintelligible but doubtlessly insulting around the wad of cloth stuffed in his mouth.

Christine deliberated for some time before finally replying, "No, he isn't really. Um... When we go to war with another country, all of the soldiers on the other side think their country is better than ours, right?"

"But they're wrong," Meg protested.

"Sure." Christine chuckled. "But they're not _bad_, are they? They want to do the right thing, they're just a bit confused over what the right thing is."

"I guess so..."

"See, Inspector Chagny is just like that. He thinks that monsieur Valjean is evil, even though we know he's wrong. It's nothing to worry about, as long as we try not to meet him again. We're going to go somewhere else now so that he doesn't know where to find us." She leaned in to whisper into Meg's ear. "He also thinks that monsieur Mathieu's name is monsieur Valjean. We don't want him knowing it's Mathieu, so try not to say that name, okay? Can you do that?" It would be best to keep Valjean's alias usable.

"Okay." Meg nodded. "But how wert thou making our stuff disappear?"

Christine spent several seconds mentally flailing around for an answer. "Magic," she finally declared matter-of-factly.

"Ooooh." Meg stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed. "Can I get magic too?"

"Um," she said. "Yes. Maybe. If you wish really really hard and you're really really patient, you'll wake up with it one morning like I did."

Valjean, who had been watching their exchange with some amusement, interjected. "We have to go. Can you two carry your shoes for now? We've already made too much noise." He lifted the sleeping Azelma into his arms and headed for the door.

As the four left Inspector Chagny to fume in solitude, Christine resumed the song under her breath. "So never kick a dog  
Because she's just a pup  
We'll fight like twenty armies  
And we won't give up  
And you'd better run for cover  
When the pup grows up!"

* * *

12.1 - Gustave has already lost too much innocence for Christine's preferences.

12.2 - Skprunx.

12.3 - Mini-me loops: fun for everyone.

12.4 - "Derniere Danse" by Indila. Erik has Tastes, you know.

12.5 - Rocky Horror Picture Show.

12.6 - Les Miserables: To Be Continued.


	13. Loops 13

_"People of a feather prank together."_

* * *

13.1

Upon Awaking, Christine realized that she now had six limbs instead of four. Two arms, two legs...two great big masses of white feathers coming off her back. "Huh," she said. "Normally Erik's the one with the wings."

Her companion raised an eyebrow. "Erik? Who's he?" Meg grinned. "Oh, I see! Christine, why didn't you tell me you were seeing someone?"

"Well, I'm not exactly," she protested. She really needed to check her Loop memories before saying anything definite.

"Details! I need details!" the other girl demanded, buzzing her hummingbird wings.

Christine peered downward off the edge of the conveniently placed cliff, then artfully staggered back. "Wow, that's high. That is _really_ high. I think I need a moment."

Meg frowned. "Do you need to sit down or something?"

She ransacked her memory for pertinent details. Either this was a Fused Loop, she concluded, or it was one weird Variant. "Never mind, I'm good. So let's do this flying thing, why don't we?" Without waiting for an answer, she flung herself into the open air and promptly plummeted like a rock.

After several seconds of screaming, her fall was slowed, though not stopped, by a pair of hands seizing her ankles. "God, Christine, you need to actually flap those wings of yours, you know? It's not that hard if you actually try!"

Christine complied hesitantly, beating her new limbs once, twice, thrice, and it was working. It was working! She let out a whoop as Meg broke off to fly beside her. "This is amazing!"

"Sure is," Meg agreed, smirking at her at the exact moment Christine felt a Ping.

"You _weren't _Awake back there."

"I totally was," Meg crowed, "and I got you so flustered it wasn't even funny! Scratch that, it _was_ funny. Although you know it isn't exactly healthy to jump off a cliff as a way to escape awkwardness, right? You've got so much to live for, like that what's-his-name dude you were talking about earlier. Erin or something?"

"Shut up," Christine scolded, smiling despite herself.

Meg's expression grew comically serious. "I mean it! You can't get dates when you're dead. Don't do it, Christine, don't do it!"

"You're really one to talk about not committing suicide, Miss Bathing Beauty."

Meg looked troubled for a moment, uncertain. This had not historically been a topic of conversation that led to good places.

"And you couldn't even aim right!" Christine added with a grin.

"Oh, you did _not_ just go there!"

Meg shoved Christine, who shoved back, and the whole thing rapidly devolved into an aerial tussle just above the treetops. As said tussle got in the way of remaining aloft, the pair soon found themselves just _below_ the treetops. Branch after branch contrived to smack into one or the other, or sometimes both. Christine hit the ground with a sickening crack. With the waves of pain already flooding her body, she barely noticed when her friend landed on top of her.

"Thanks for cushioning me, I guess," Meg wheezed, clutching at her bruised side, but her voice seemed distant.

Thunder boomed overhead, but not even the brilliant forks of lighting could defeat the darkness encroaching on her vision.

.

"Christine. Hey, Christine," a voice whispered.

"Go 'way," she replied intelligently, and buried her head in a pillow. The light was too bright, even through her shut eyelids.

"C'mon, wake up!" the person urged. Their voice was familiar, but she wasn't nearly awake enough to place it and she would much prefer to stay that way. She was sleepy and the bed was warm.

...Bed? Her confusion and curiosity finally provided her with sufficient motivation. Ignoring for the moment the pain shooting through her right wing, she sat up and opened her eyes to the sight of Meg's face. "What's going on?"

"I'm not really sure. I think we're still in the forest, though."

"Well, that's quite helpful of you. I don't think I _ever_ would have figured it out," Christine said, turning thoughtful. "I wonder what kind of person would make a home way out here in the middle of nowhere."

"The same kind of person who's bringing you food," a man said, striding into the room. True to his word, he bore a tray with two bowls of delicious-smelling stew. "I see you're awake."

Meg glanced at Christine, who had broken into a grin as soon as she saw him. Ah, young love. Erm...ah, very old love? "And what might this person's name be?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"Save your questions for later. You should both focus on nourishing yourselves," Erik said. He set the tray before them and left the room once more, although not without a surreptitious glance at Christine.

Meg gestured to the empty doorway. "He looked like a normal person, as far as I can tell. Except for those scars on his face, of course, but that's practically nothing. What do you think his deal is? Obviously there's something."

"Reclusive man with secrets?" Christine suggested.

"Oh, you're no fun." Meg wrinkled her nose. "You can do better than that."

"All right." Christine tapped her chin. "Mm...lives in the forest..."

"I bet he's a dryad."

"I'm pretty sure those don't exist here."

"We're people with wings. Why not have dryads?" she defended, crossing her arms.

"Fine, then I say he's a gorgon," Christine countered.

"What? No. That's ridiculous for so many reasons."

She shrugged. "No more ridiculous than yours."

"If you say so..."

"He's on the run from the cops. He broke some law or another."

"Murder," Meg decided.

Christine rolled her eyes. "Meg, don't -"

But the girl was already grinning widely, eyes alight. "Not only murder," she said. "He went and killed the president."

"No, Meg, just no." Sighing, she put a hand to her face.

"Well, then, he's a mad scientist."

"And where did you pull that from?"

"Well, unless there's someone else in this house and I seriously doubt that, he's obviously good with medicine. Or haven't you noticed this by now?" Meg prodded Christine's wing. Hard.

"Ow!" Christine shrieked, instinct jolting her away from her friend. "What was that for?"

Meg raised her eyebrows. "Why don't you look?"

She turned her gaze to her injured wing, which was now half stripped of feathers. A line of stitches ran across a portion of the exposed flesh, and two more parts were bound to splints. "...Well, that's nasty. You didn't have to poke it, though," she huffed.

"Sorry."

"Apology accepted."

The two sat in silence for a minute or so.

"He's a cannibal," Meg decided.

_"What?"_

"Yep, that's it exactly. He's going to kill us and cook us and eat us."

"Meg!" Christine protested.

"This stew was made from his previous victims," the wickedly grinning girl concluded, earning herself a face full of pillow.

"Stop being so morbid!" Christine ordered.

"Mmph."

From his position in the doorway, Erik cleared his throat. Christine's head shot up to stare at him, utterly mortified. "How long have you been there?"

"Considering I was still just outside when you started your _lovely_ discussion, what do you think?" His tone was dry, if a bit shaken.

"_Oh_. I'm really sorry, we weren't trying to - sometimes Meg gets a little - I'm _really_ sorry. Meg!" she hissed. "Apologize!"

"Mmph," Meg said contritely.

.

The next morning, the two girls were sitting on the couch, in their own home, sans Erik. Meg had a remote in her hand and was absently flipping channels.

"I still think it's your fault that he wouldn't come with us." Christine glared at Meg.

"Uh-_huh_. Crap movie...advertisement..."

"He was thinking about it, I could tell," she insisted over her friend's droning.

"Yeah, sure. Cooking show..."

"Then you just had to open your mouth again, didn't you?"

"What, did I mess up your love life? News...kids' cartoon..."

"Meg, you know that's not -" She frowned at the screen. "Was that Carlotta? Go back."

"It couldn't have been. We haven't passed any nature documentaries." At Christine's questioning look, Meg elaborated. "You know, frogs."

"If you say so."

Carlotta's dulcet voice interrupted any further discussion. "...when these new, stronger genes are mixed with that of a naturally wingless person, the result is the average, winged, like you and me."

One of the reporters began asking some question of Carlotta and her companion, a man who looked to be Philippe de Chagny, but Meg spoke over her.

"Correction: _Hitler_ frogs."

"Oh dear Lord above," Christine breathed, staring at the four scaled, feathered, practically _clawed_ wings of one of the child prodigies currently on display. None of the three seemed very happy with the situation, especially not the girl. Oh, they looked enthusiastic enough, but Christine was an actress. She knew the tells.

"Wait, Carlotta's a scientist now?" Focusing on the most important information as always, Meg frowned. "How is that even possible?"

"Meg, there is a time and place to be flippant, and this is not one of them." She shuddered. "Not at all."

"Oh, all right. So what are we doing about this?"

"_You_ are going to fly back and convince Erik to help us bring that woman down. _I_ -" she gestured to her wing - "am too injured to come with you, unfortunately. By the way, thanks so much for landing on me. It really helped."

"Anytime," Meg assured. "But couldn't you just fix it?"

"Not without raising too many questions." Christine smirked. "Just think of this as your punishment for out-disturbing Erik."

"I guess that's fair." Shrugging, she got to her feet and made for the door. "See you later."

When Meg had gone, Christine whipped out her phone. She tapped out the number of a certain childhood friend, then impatiently drummed her fingers against her leg as she waited for him to pick up.

"Christine! What's up?"

"Raoul, what the _hell_ is your brother doing?" she demanded.

He sighed. "Oh, you saw that interview. Look, there's blackmail involved and he can't be seen going against Carlotta."

Blackmail? That was never good. "Well, does that extend to you?"

"If it does, I know I'm going to be in a lot of trouble soon."

She chuckled, leaning back into the plush of the couch. "Good for you. Don't get caught, all right?"

"Of course not. Is there something else you were thinking about?"

"Well, maybe," she suggested. "Why don't you come over this afternoon, and we can talk more?"

.

Christine opened the door on Meg and...opened the door on Meg. "Where's our friend from yesterday?"

"Having second thoughts," Meg explained, tugging the man in question into view. "Look, we have a guest. Hey!" she called. "This is Erik. Say hi, Erik!"

"You didn't say there would be this many people," he mumbled, studying his feet.

"_There is only one extra person for God's sake_ Erik says hi," Meg translated, and proceeded to drag him in.

Amused, Christine closed the door and walked back to where Raoul was already sitting. She turned the laptop to face the doorway. "Actually, thanks to the power of the internet, there are two extra people. Meg, you might remember Eveline from this morning."

"I don't think so..." Meg stared at the four-winged girl nervously waving on the screen. "Oh...oh yeah, I do. Um, are you..." She trailed off in surprise. "What's wrong?"

Erik was doing his very best to loose Meg's grip on his hand and back away from the computer. "No, not another one, no telling if they've done worse to her, shouldn't be two like me in the same room, _can't_ end well..." he was muttering to himself, seemingly unaware that they could easily hear him.

Standing up, Raoul raised an eyebrow. "Two like you? What do you mean? You don't look like you have wings at all."

Erik's eyes widened further. "No... I..."

Christine caught him by the shoulders, and he froze. "Don't worry. You're okay, nothing's wrong. I didn't see a television in your house, so you probably haven't heard yet. I'll just catch you up, okay? There's this scientist, Carlotta Guidicelli - no, don't panic, you're fine - claiming that people like Eveline are superior and people without wings are worthless. We're trying to foil her evil plans. That's all. We think you could help, if you wanted to." He seemed, if anything, more agitated after hearing that name.

"So what have we got so far?" Meg asked in a low voice.

"Look, why don't you just sit down with us? You don't have to talk if you don't feel like it. You don't have to do anything if you don't feel like it. Does that sound good?"

"We were going to have Eveline publicly denounce her unless we thought of something better," Raoul murmured.

Christine leaned into Erik, her grip slipping into a hug, then paused. She tentatively patted his torso. "Is there something under your jacket?" He stiffened further.

"I'm just a little nervous, I suppose," Eveline admitted.

"No, I'm sorry, you don't have to talk about it. Whatever it is, it's not a problem. You're all right," Christine reassured. She kissed his cheek to reinforce the idea, and for a brief moment it seemed to have the desired effect.

"How about I break the ice for you?" Meg suggested.

Erik wrenched his way out of Christine's grip, stalked away, and whirled to face the group again. "No, I'm not all right!" he burst out. "God knows what was going on yesterday, and now you're all practically treating me like you would a normal person. If you knew, you wouldn't act like this. I don't deserve this at _all_. I'm a _monster!_" He showed them exactly what lay beneath the jacket, and the room was silent for a few seconds.

Raoul nodded slowly. "Okay, we can work with this."

.

"Excuse me, Doctor Guidicelli, ma'am?" A hand waved in the air, a young woman making herself known amid the chaos of the press conference. Reporters were younger every year, it seemed - this one barely looked out of high school, if that.

"Go on, ask your questions," she allowed.

"Oh, I don't have any questions, sorry. Is a fifteen-page paper refuting your every word okay instead?" The room fell silent, and the blonde granted herself a cocky grin. "It's got quite a lot of scandals in, if that helps." She had said precisely the right thing, considering she was talking to a flock of media people.

"You little toad! That is _not_ -" the doctor was protesting when, suddenly, she let out a croak. Well, at least she succeeded in drawing attention back to herself. Although she could hear tittering from a couple near the back (the man had no visible wings, she noted. How had he been allowed in?), she tried again. "How dare you - _croak_ \- you insolent - _croak_ \- you can't just - _croak croak croak_ -" There was no stopping it now, and that held equally true for the croaking itself and the widespread laughter it was inspiring.

As the red-faced doctor tried desperately to reestablish herself - _this was not supposed to be happening_, damn it - her gaze returned to the pair who had first laughed. The young woman, one wing in a splint, looked very adamant in her side of the conversation; the man seemed more hesitant, but nodded his head. He then turned to face Carlotta directly, and she involuntarily gasped, setting off another series of croaks. Those eyes of his burned right into her soul: those terrible familiar golden eyes which brought back the worst of memories. She had tortured him years ago, when she was just beginning her research. And now this man was striding into the midst of the crowd; now clearing his throat, drawing attention to himself; now glancing nervously at the injured girl; now speaking, and that voice, dear God, that _voice_...

"I'd like to say - ah, wait a moment." Taking a deep breath, he removed his leather jacket and unfolded his dragonlike wings with a dramatic flourish. The scales, the fuzz, the wide tan membranes stretched between the bones were all on display. His chest was just as exposed, where every scar carved a line of white against his pronounced ribs. "I'd like to say that I am also firmly against everything Dr. Guidicelli stands for."

Another superhuman figure, flanked by two smaller ones, flew into the room on her four wide wings. What were they doing here? "So do I," Eveline said and, after a pause, nudged her brothers. "Me too," they chimed in, slightly out of sync with each other.

As Dr. Carlotta Guidicelli watched her world crumble around her, Raoul entered after the trio and made his way to a still-snickering Christine. "Hello again."

"'A toad, madame?'" she squeaked out. "'Perhaps it is you who are -' ah, um, sorry." She giggled. "Yes. Hi."

He snorted. "Where did you come up with that, anyway?"

"It's a long story."

.

"That. Was. Awesome," exulted Meg, pumping her fist.

Laughing, Eveline shook her head. "How on earth did you write fifteen pages in three days? I can't wrap my head around it."

"Hey, I can do a lot when I put my mind to it," she defended. "Also I may have skipped school."

"For _shame_. And here I was, starting to think you were responsible," Christine shot. "Now would you kindly stop talking?"

She was ignored. "All of you were great too," Meg continued. "Erik, I was really impressed. I wasn't sure you would be able to do it."

Erik looked away, a small smile playing about his lips. "I would not want to do that again... but I agree it went well."

"I'm with Christine on this one," Raoul said. "Hush."

"And the whole toad thing! That was hilarious!" Meg offered a high-five to Christine. Failing to get the other girl's cooperation, she pouted.

"Please," Christine stressed. "Be quiet or leave. This is one of the best parts and no one can hear it with your chattering."

The room was promptly abandoned in favor of another, leaving Christine and Raoul alone on the couch. Well, Eveline's brothers were still in the room, just on the floor - nope, they were on the couch now, having seized the opportunity to take the now-available spots.

_"Ponyo loves Sosuke!" _the adorable fish squealed from the television.

"Some people just don't know good movies when they see them." Sighing, Christine stood up and made to follow the others. "I'd better make sure Meg doesn't say something stupid. Erik can be really thin-skinned."

Raoul frowned. "You've only known him a few days. How do you -"

"Because _reasons._"

* * *

13.2

After that first gala night, Christine raced to her dressing room. She wouldn't have much time, if she wanted to pull this off. Sidestepping the various congratulations, she only paused to instruct Madame Giry that she wanted to be alone. And that meant everyone, childhood friends included. She had an appointment with an Angel - and Madame smiled a knowing smile and nodded.

Once the door was safely closed, Christine whipped out a pair of scissors and set to attacking her hair, catching the curls in her subspace pocket. It would grow back. For now, it looked suitably patchy and thin. Good. A black wig came next. She exchanged her fine white gown - stuffing it into her pocket again - for an elegant black dress and cape. Oh, don't forget the black gloves, those were part of the outfit for sure. How much longer did she have? It couldn't be very long, and this would take the most time...

Fortunately, she had already applied the necessary makeup much earlier in the day, and had simply used a spell (or glamour, or something like that, from some Loop or another) to make her face look like it was supposed to for the gala. She cancelled the magic, donned the mask, double-checked the floor for scraps of her transition, and found her place behind the mirror. Her back straightened, her expression calmed, her pounding heart slowly stilled; no, she had not taken too long. He wasn't here yet, and she was. She allowed herself a sly smile. For someone she had once thought so... imposing, aloof, icy, he was such an easy man to confuse.

Footsteps from behind. Hello, Phantom.

She stiffened as if in shock. "Who are you? How did you find your way in here?" Her voice was cold but uncertain, a trace of steel hiding behind the words. At least, that was the intention. She wasn't sure if she had done it right.

"I might ask you the same thing." His voice carried exactly what she had wanted her own to. He didn't seem to realize who she was. Good.

Christine whirled around, narrowed her eyes - froze, staring at the man before her. "The hell?"

The Unawake Phantom was as confused as she looked. "You're - what?"

She visibly relaxed. "Oh, now I see. You're pretending to be the Phantom of the Opera to scare the Opera's rising star. Did Josephine Buquet plan this? Or, no, you wanted to frighten off the threat to El Carlos." She casually took out a Punjab lasso. "Well, you've made two mistakes. Christopher is very comfortable with me, so you won't be scaring him dressed like that. You also failed to realize that the Opera Ghost is _not a man_, which is quite the flaw in your costume, don't you agree?" She chuckled, advancing toward him. "Of course, you've also made the third mistake of assuming you could get out of this alive, but I think that goes without saying."

He snorted derisively, drawing a lasso of his own. "If you're the Phantom of the Opera, I'm a chorus girl."

Well, she didn't actually want this to turn into a fight to the death or something. "Let's just see what's under that mask, shall we?" Lunging, she tore off both his mask and his wig and stopped short. "What?"

To his credit, the Phantom was much better at recovering from this when he didn't know it was her. "Do you like what you see?"

Outwardly stunned, she bared her own (fake, of course) deformities. "You're hideous," they whispered in unison, and neither seemed to take all that much offense.

The Phantom glanced past her at the mirror. "So Christopher would be..."

"Christopher Daae, who else?"

"Christine."

Her eyes widened. "And Raoule de Chagny, El Carlos, Ubalda Piangi, Martin Giry?"

"Raoul, La Carlotta, Ubaldo, Meg." He shook his head. "What the hell is going on?"

Christine frowned. "I'm not sure." They stared into the dressing room in silence. "I don't think he's coming."

"Where else would she go? Where else could she be?" he worried.

"I have no idea, but he'll have to be back by morning. He can't just vanish on us. He has nowhere else." Giving one last forlorn look to the mirror, she strode down the corridor. "We can see him then."

"I suppose..."

.

When they reached the Phantom's lair, Christine appraised the wedding doll. "That was a suit last I saw it. God only knows how this happened."

"We'll figure that out in the morning. For now, where will you sleep? The swan bed?"

"Heavens no, that's for Christo- that's for Christine."

"It isn't as if I have any other spare beds, you know."

She sighed. "Yes, you're right. The swan bed it is." Yawning, she rubbed at her eyes. "And not a moment too soon."

He nodded to her. "Good night...?"

"Erika. You're Erik, I presume?"

"You would be right in that. Good night, Erika."

"Good night, Erik."

.

"Wake up, Christine."

"Mnuh." It was hard to tell when underground, but she was pretty sure it was morning now. Still, that didn't mean she couldn't sleep some more - her eyes flew open. "You called me Christine?"

The Phantom glared at her, mask on once more. "That's what I said, Mademoiselle Daae."

She touched a hand to the right side of her face, which felt distinctly like bare skin and not like makeup. "Oh, come on!"

"I don't know _how_ you -"

"And this was going so well! It was going to be such a good prank, I hadn't even gotten to any of the funniest parts yet. I mean maybe it wasn't the _best_ prank, but I still -"

"Excuse me?"

"Do you have any idea how long it took to learn how to do makeup that realistically? A long time! I'm not very good at visual arts, I'll have you know -"

"What -" His anger was rapidly dissipating into complete bafflement.

"And maybe I'll never be able to pull this off, because apparently it all smudges away in my sleep and I won't be able to reapply it all even if I do wake up first, and I had so many ideas that'll have to wait until I figure this out -"

"Christine, what the hell are you talking about?" the Phantom demanded.

"I've gone a bit Loopy," she told him.

He rolled his eyes. "Obviously."

"You wouldn't understand."

"Tell me something I don't know."

"I met someone once who can sing in harmony with herself," Christine suggested.

"What?" He looked at her strangely.

She shrugged. "You didn't know that, did you? Also, mantis shrimp can see in sixteen different colors."

"How is that related to anything?"

"Beats me." She grinned. "Also, I have photographs of you making out with Meg."

"_What?!"_

* * *

12.6 continued: Populairables

_July 27, 1824_

As soon as they arrived at the house on Rue Plumet, Christine suggested that Valjean take the children to the park. One park in particular, in fact, to which he acceded fairly easily. Meg and Azelma were enticed by the verdant grass, by the ornate flowerbeds, by the swans that circled in the pond, and so they would come to the Luxembourg once or twice a week. Valjean admitted to being somewhat perplexed as to what she intended of the visits (he could not imagine that she was pursuing romance with Marius, and in any case she was currently far too young for that), but she assured him that she had a feeling.

Sure enough, that feeling was rewarded after a month or so. Valjean was sitting on the bench, reading Leroux's interpretation of her story, and Azelma was singlemindedly chasing off the pigeons Christine and Meg were attempting to throw crumbs to. Christine would have liked to say she saw him as soon as he entered the park, but that did not happen, for it was a very large place that they were in. But she did notice him after all, a gangly boy nodding along to his grandfather's ramblings, his wandering eyes betraying his disinterest. He was missing what some would call his most distinctive feature, and she rarely saw him at this age of fourteen; but his hair, his eyes, his whole wary manner of moving, she knew all those by heart. Smiling privately, she turned to chide Azelma once more, though she kept an eye on him. If the pair continued along the path they were taking, they would be coming quite close.

It was almost entertaining to watch. He caught sight of the man on the bench, stopped where he was, and fixed on Valjean's white hair. His gaze flickered briefly to the spot where Cosette would have been sitting. He shook his head. He frowned and again scrutinized the white hair, the simple and worn clothes, the walking stick that was almost a cudgel. He made a sharp motion as if to pluck something from the air and cursed at his empty hand, whereupon his grandfather finally noticed. Monsieur Gillenormand, Christine thought the man's name was.

"...and as for Napoleon, my boy, I think thou wouldst agree that - what is it?"

"It was nothing."

"Surely not. What has gotten thee worked up like this?"

He coughed. "...Napoleon, Grandfather, that's all. Why don't you enlighten me more as to how deplorable he was?"

Apparently satisfied, his grandfather returned to his monologue, leaving his grandson to squint once more at Valjean.

Christine had seen her opportunity and taken it, so that she was now hovering directly behind him. She chose this moment to give him a tap on the shoulder and a quick whispered "Hello, you."

He must have jumped a foot into the air. He whirled around, electrified with shock. "Christine?"

She grinned. "Erik. Fancy meeting you here."

"Do you two know each other?" Erik's grandfather peered down at Christine, who hastily shrugged nonchalantly.

"We've bumped into each other on the street once or twice."

"Is that so?"

"So," Valjean said loudly, having put away his book, "I hear you hold opinions on Napoleon, monsieur?" He patted the bench beside him, and M. Gillenormand obliged.

The old man scowled good-naturedly, settling into a familiar rhythm. "Oh, I hold a great many opinions about that blackguard..."

Valjean winked at Christine. She and Erik shared a grin and took full advantage of the opportunity he had given them.

.

"You caused me quite a bit of embarrassment a few months ago, you know," Christine said, hauling herself into the tree after him.

Dangling his legs off a limb, Erik quirked an eyebrow. "Really? How so?"

"You answered my Ping."

"What, should I not have?"

She settled herself in a place where two branches forked. "I don't know, but at the time I didn't think it was from you. Raoul's replacing Javert, you know."

He gasped dramatically. "You _didn't_."

"I _did_. Long story short, there was a misunderstanding or two and then I kicked him several times in a very tender area." She grinned. "You must be very disappointed to have missed it."

"Oh, I'm sure it must have been a sight to see." Erik's eyes danced with laughter. "I'll be getting my own chance in seven or eight years, of course, if you're not opposed."

"As long as he hasn't Woken Up first," she cautioned.

"Oh, darn, you got me there," he said, mock-crestfallen.

Christine laughed. "Although I will say he treated me just a bit more decently than Javert would have. Up until I went after him, he was treating me as a victim, not an accomplice."

He grinned. "Raoul couldn't be callous if he tried."

"So what have you been up to?"

"Nothing nearly as exciting. School, as if I haven't had a thousand educations already. My dear 'grandfather' keeps me on a tight leash, you see. And you? What brings you here this early?"

She shrugged. "We just skipped over the convent entirely, that's all. I wouldn't have minded it too much, but then there were Az - whoa!" For a flock of pigeons had abruptly colonized their tree, squawking indignantly. The birds, and thus the lovebirds, were soon pelted with breadcrumbs. "Point in case." Christine leaped to the ground with a playful shriek. "Come here, you!"

Smiling down on Christine and her antics, Erik shooed a pigeon from his knee and another from his head. It was as if the birds were staging a revolution against people in trees or something. That reminded him - what would he do about the revolution? He certainly should do something; after all, he couldn't just let them die, even if they would be just fine next Loop. He wracked his memory for recollections of the book, as he unfortunately didn't have it with him. The Amis had been defeated because...well, he couldn't remember exactly what had happened, but surely an increased offensive capability would serve. As it was, he was tempted to give them all machine guns and be done with it.

Erik grinned. Actually, that wasn't such a bad idea. He _should_ give them machine guns. The police and the army and such wouldn't know what hit them. The Amis would easily win the battle. Triumph would be theirs!

It was at this point that he remembered, with some disappointment, that he was not actually in the habit of stockpiling machine guns in his Pocket.

"Erik!" Christine called, her giggles disrupting his musings. "Erik, help! They've ganged up on me!"

Both of the other girls were indeed chasing after her, and he debated whether or not to join the game. One of the pigeons chose that moment to relieve itself, and he quickly Forced the falling white glob away from his shirt - its original target. Several seconds later, he heard a squeal of disgust and turned to look.

"Ewww!" whined one of Christine's pursuers, the blonde who seemed vaguely familiar. "It got in my hair!"

"What did?" asked the youngest of the three girls, and came closer to look. "Oh, gross!"

"Jean - uh, Papa!" Christine shouted. "We need to go home and give Meg a bath!"

At that name, Erik nearly fell off the branch. As it was, he momentarily dangled like a sloth, and recovered just in time to find himself on the receiving end of an unimpressed look from Christine.

Well, he hadn't intended that to happen at all, but circumstances were against him and he might as well take responsibility. _You were the one who asked a fourteen-year-old boy for help, you know._

She rolled her eyes, stuck out her tongue, and waved to him.

_Goodbye to you too. Same time tomorrow?_

She nodded, turning to follow Meg and the other girl over to Jean Valjean. He wrinkled his nose. Was that smoke he smelled? What -?

The leaves beside him burst into flame, and he belatedly realized the error in giving oneself a fiery shadow when sitting in a tree.

* * *

13.1 - Variant Loops are occasionally backed up on the Hub as fanfiction. This particular variant is modeled on Wings by Kumon5. I cannot adequately stress how absolutely fantastically amazing it is. You should go read it right now. (I apologize for spoiling some parts of it...) (and yes, I did ask for permission first.)

13.2 - Sometimes, Looper pranks are pulled off spectacularly. Other times, not so much.

13.3 - The next chapter should have the rest of this.


	14. Loops 14

_"Phantom's face's at the window  
__Phantom's shadow's on the floor  
__Empty chairs and empty tables  
__'Til I hear you sing once more..."_

* * *

Populairables

_February 11, 1825_

Meg sidled over to Christine. "Well, you were right."

"About what?"

"Remember what you told me, that night when Inspector Chagny visited?" She laughed. "I was patient, like you said, and I think I wished for it more than I wished for anything else. And presto, I Woke Up this morning with, well, what you called magic."

"Oh." Christine blinked.

"So what Loop is this, exactly?"

Christine raised her eyebrows. "Your parents, innkeepers, took in me, a little girl, for money. You have a sister named Azelma. We were taken by a white-haired man with secrets, and whose name is Jean Valjean, and you _don't know_ where we -"

Meg's mouth formed an O. "Wait, his name is Jean _Valjean?_"

"You really didn't see through my paper-thin excuse that night? - was that really the _only_ thing I said just now that you picked up on?"

"To be fair," Meg defended, "one, some of it was a lot more subtle at the time, two, you changed a lot of it, and three, there's barely any singing. Take right now, for example. We are having a conversation with normal words." She frowned at Christine's flat look. "What? Backups are supposed to be reliable."

"That's just a Variant. The backup of the baseline is the book."

"Wait, there's a book?"

Utterly unimpressed, Christine heaved a sigh. "Yes, Meg, there is. It was published just under a decade before our baseline starts, and I have _no_ idea how you've gone this long without hearing of it. Any more questions?"

Meg took a moment to consider that. "...No, I'm good. Hang on, so Raoul's Javert -"

"He isn't Awake," Christine clarified.

"Right, right, and you're Cosette, and I guess Erik's Marius. That makes me... Eponine, right? Well, at least I'm not Fantine. So what were you going to do about me if I hadn't Woken Up?"

Christine pursed her lips. "Well, if there started being any romantic complications, we were thinking of pointing you in Enjolras' direction and saying your name was Patria -"

"What, you think that would have worked?"

"It would have been worth a shot, anyway, and it would have been funny. But Valjean said it was stupid and he wouldn't let us. I don't think he's quite grasped the point of shenanigans yet," she added conspiratorially.

Meg shrugged. "It can take a while sometimes. I know I was so very confused about that thing with the aardvarks."

Christine wrinkled her nose. "Honestly, I'm still not sure I understand what was going on with the aardvarks."

.

_May 31, 1829_

The garden at the Rue Plumet was just as overgrown as his recollections of the book had suggested. Erik pushed his way through one last budding bramble, strode to the door, and firmly rapped the knocker. Several minutes passed, and he grew worried that there had been something which he had forgotten, that there was some other place to which he should have gone instead; then the door cracked open on a young face.

"Want me to get Christine?" Azelma asked, with the knowing smile of someone who thinks herself awfully clever.

"No, actually," he said, and her smirk deflated into wide-eyed curiosity. "Would you fetch your father, please?"

"'Kay." She closed the door on him.

As he waited, Erik absentmindedly hummed an aria from _La fille du régiment_. He thought he had the score for that opera on him. Wasn't it set in Napoleon's time? Well, that was good. It would work well for his next 'composition' for the Salle le Peletier - he felt a bit guilty about claiming the works as his own, but it wasn't as if the true composers had even had the ideas yet. Nor did he have the time to write his own, as he had wholeheartedly plunged into the world of the Amis de l'ABC. He wasn't particularly social by nature, but something about the group stirred the blood in his veins. Perhaps it was simply the proximity to people he knew would be staging a revolution in only a handful of years. He was building up his plans for that, and this set him in the perfect position.

In any case, he preferred not to be as penniless as the young man he was replacing. As long as the Paris Opera Company kept paying him, he would keep introducing the operagoers to some of the better works from their future. Yes, _La fille_ was quite a good one. It would serve nicely.

He was shaken from his thoughts by the door opening once more. "You wanted me?" Valjean prompted.

"Yes," Erik said. "I was wondering if I might move in with you?"

Valjean frowned. "I doubt that would be a good idea. Do you have nowhere else to live?"

"At the moment, I'm still with my grandfather, but if I remain there much longer that Royalist will finally figure out what sort of people I've been associating with - I won't last long with him after that, which is why I'm asking. Then I had been thinking of living by my lake, but without the Opera foundations in place it's not nearly so habitable. I _suppose_ it would always be possible to rent a room somewhere, or perhaps Courfeyrac would take me in as he did Marius... Why are you so opposed?"

"You know I prefer solitude."

"Yes, but you live with three girls and a maid. One more wouldn't be too many, would it? Besides, I'm not averse to seclusion myself. In such a large house, we could each keep our own solitude without coming across each other."

"Perhaps, perhaps not. Yet you are a young man with many friends," Valjean countered.

"Am I?" Taken aback, Erik considered that point. "It seems I am. How strange. I wouldn't invite them here if you were against it, and it wouldn't be such an odd thing. We don't go to each others' homes much, we Amis. I can't even remember a day when we did."

"And if they were to write you letters? I am more comfortable without my address being given out."

"They can leave their letters at the Café Musain, where we meet, and I will pick them up there," Erik suggested.

Jean Valjean sighed. "Thus we come to the crux of the matter. A fourteen-year-old may be friends with a nine-year-old, that is well and good, but you must understand that a boy of eighteen should not live with a girl of thirteen. The one is coming into his manhood, the other is yet a child. It is simply not allowable." He held up a hand. "Do not speak to me of how long you have lived by Yggdrasil's standards. You may count a thousand years between the two of you, you may count a million, but I do not care. Mental age is not all that matters. Christine may not be my daughter, but I nonetheless consider myself responsible for her in a sense. My concern may well be entirely unfounded, but do permit an old man his prudence, however foolish."

"Very well, I will respect that." Erik allowed, brushing over his disappointment. "Shall we still meet at the Luxembourg on Saturday?"

Valjean chuckled. "As always."

"A bientot, monsieur Valjean."

"C'est ça. Au revoir."

The younger nodded to the older, turned, and submerged himself once more in the bushes and flowers of unkempt spring. As he walked, he looked around appreciatively and nodded to himself. Yes, there couldn't be a better place for clandestine meetings. Marius and Cosette had had the right idea.

.

_April 9, 1831_

The back room of the Café Musain was filled with conversation and good cheer when the three arrivals made their way over to one of the tables.

"And so, Bossuet, I cannot help but think that - Erik!" Courfeyrac broke off, turning to his roommate. "And who might these young ladies be?"

"This would be Christine Mathieu -"

"Ah! I have heard a great deal about you, Mademoiselle. Is your father still safely unaware?"

"He caught us together in the garden last night," she admitted.

"And this is Meg Mathieu. They are here as students," Erik said, just how the young man before him had introduced him to the Amis several years ago.

Courfeyrac raised his eyebrows. "They?"

"We," Meg confirmed. "Is it so impossible that we might have political opinions of our own?"

He thought it over for a moment. "No, I suppose it isn't."

.

_June 5, 1832_

The day had finally come. General Lamarque was dead. The Amis de l'ABC were constructing a barricade. Amid the mounting chaos, Meg was in the middle of dragging a chair over to the growing wall when Feuilly walked up.

"What are you doing here, Mesdemoiselles?" he exclaimed. "We enjoyed your presence at the Café Musain, but combat is no place for ladies such as yourselves."

Christine rolled her eyes and set to prying another cobblestone from the street. "The barricade has a hole that needs filling." It came loose in her hands, and she wedged it in the gap. "And so I have filled it. I'll let you interpret that metaphor yourself."

"But surely the delicate flower of thy beauty should bloom in an equally beautiful place, and not in this violent spot," he protested.

Meg crossed her arms. "The only field this flower wants to bloom in right now is a battlefield. Give me a gun and I'll serve as well as any man."

"There are some men here who had barely thought of this revolution at all before today, and you haven't said a word to them. And then you turn to us, who have stood with you for nearly a year, and tell us to leave? I'm sorry, but we're staying," Christine asserted.

Feuilly looked between the two girls, deliberating. "If you must."

.

Erik looked over the barricade as the construction was finishing up. He knew he should simply fill a crate or two with what he had collected over the past three years or so, and just distribute them in the most mundane way. It was simple, it was consistent with what they knew, it raised no real questions. Then again, he had never been one to pass up theatrics.

The last paving stone was shunted into place, and he saw his opportunity. Striding amid the throng, he drew gun upon gun from his Pocket, along with generous helpings of bullets, and handed each to the nearest astonished person. However much weaponry they had had before, they would certainly be in no danger of running out now. Eventually, just as planned, he was confronted by Enjolras.

"What the devil art thou up to?" the man demanded.

Erik grinned. He set himself just _so_ against the least flammable section of the barricade, angled himself _just_ right - and shifted from human to griffin-as-human. His shadow morphed perfectly: most of it was positioned so as to minimize the discrepancies from a man, leaving the crowd of rebels with the impression that his shadow was that of a blazing humanoid with wings outstretched. He raised his fist to the air, fingers clenched around one last gun appearing from apparently nowhere. "The devil, you say? The devil is nothing, for God is on our side!"

_Hell_ yes, he would enjoy this fight.

.

Little Gustave tugged on Enjolras' sleeve and pointed. "Dost thou see that man over there?"

"What of him?"

"He's a police spy," the urchin declared.

"I recognize him now," Erik agreed. "I have seen him many times in uniform." At Enjolras' nod, he strode away, quickly gathered a couple of burly men, and returned. The revolutionary had already begun the confrontation. Oh, he would take a great deal of pleasure in this.

"So thou hast found me out," the spy was saying, and the men tensed. "Yes, I am Inspector Chagny; yes, I serve the police. Now that that's settled, wouldst thou mind giving me a gun?"

The request left everyone dumbfounded. "Monsieur, thou must be crazy if thou thinkst we'd do that," Gustave replied. "Thou art the enemy."

Chagny leaned forward in his chair. "And that is exactly why you _should_," he stressed. "I can't be a police spy worth anything if I don't convince you to trust me, right?"

Erik frowned suspiciously.

"Right." Enjolras narrowed his eyes. "That being so, thou hast evidently failed."

"Therefore, a _perfectly reasonable_ thing for me to do to earn that trust would be to take a gun and start shooting at those Guards on the other side of the barricade. Perhaps to shout 'Down with the King' a few times. I would be one of the safest out there, as they would assume I was only faking it."

Gustave blinked. "Wait, thou art joining us?"

Erik groaned in a realization.

The inspector grinned fiercely. "Let's just say that if anyone asks, I'm working very hard to gain your confidence."

Enjolras scrutinized the inspector, who smiled ingratiatingly, and nodded to himself. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the men; they shrugged, struck up a conversation, and wandered off for a drink or two. "Well! Call me thou; we are all brothers here. Thou shalt be given the chance to prove thy worth. Erik, dost thou have a pistol to spare?" Erik inclined his head, and Enjolras departed, Gustave dogging his heels.

He transferred a gun from his Pocket to Raoul's hand. "Why you little -" he muttered. "How long have you been Awake?"

Inspector Chagny regarded him with confusion. "Since I woke up this morning. Art thou feeling all right?"

"I guess I'm just, uh, feeling a bit Loopy..."

"Let's hope it passes, then. My thanks for this." He adjusted his grip on the pistol and strode away, leaving Erik to stand alone before the empty table, eye twitching.

.

_June 6, 1832_

The summer sun shone down on the raging battle, and Christine had ample opportunities to knit wounds. She ended up using a spell that could heal everyone within a meter or so of her as long as she had something long and thin in her hand. Practically, this translated to running around the area at random (with all the chaos, it was more or less the best way to get to everyone who needed it) waving around a baguette (it had been the first suitable object on hand that wasn't a gun, and she wasn't using one of those because it might have sent the wrong impression). Hold on, there was someone prone on the ground. She jogged over, but he didn't get up. Had she come too late? She knelt beside him and, with mounting dismay, realized it was Raoul. Suddenly, the limp figure sprang to his feet and swept her into his arms. By instinct she leaned into the embrace, relaxing in relief. She didn't fully realize it wasn't actually an embrace until he had taken her to the top of the barricade and tightened his grip further, at which point she rolled her eyes.

"Surrender now, or your precious little lady dies!" the spy roared.

"You do have a penchant for taking me hostage, don't you?" Christine said, completely unperturbed.

"What?"

"You don't remember me? The little girl with Valjean? I've already kicked you twice and I won't hesitate to do it again."

"Oh. Thee." He sent a glare her way before returning his gaze to the crowd of rebels. "Well?"

"Why, Monsieur?" Gustave called out. "I thought thou wert with us!"

Inspector Chagny barked a laugh. "I told you my plan upfront. My deception was staring you in the face, and you still thought I was on your side. Gullible idiots!" He pulled her in closer and -

The whole world narrowed down to the gun muzzle pressed into her forehead. The cold metal dug into her skin. Oh God, oh God, this wasn't happening. Not this. Anything but this. She would have fallen to her trembling knees if he hadn't been gripping her so hard.

_Put the girl down!_

The gun plummeted to the cobblestones, and Christine realized five things simultaneously: that she had been released, that there was an enraged griffin in front of her, that she could smell smoke, that her head was being oddly warmed, and that a high-pitched keening was coming from directly behind her. She cautiously turned her head to look - Raoul's hair was on fire. He tried to put it out with his hands, but only succeeded in burning them. After several more panicked seconds, he dove off the barricade (onto the revolutionaries' side, she noted, which was a poor choice) and began writhing on the ground, still making that noise. Having stopped to stare, the men on either side began their exchange of bullets once more, leaving him to his antics. Eventually, he stifled the flames and attempted to sneak away from the action, but someone hit him over the head with a rifle and he collapsed.

"I will take him from here," Valjean said to the man who had felled Chagny; he was indulged, so promptly swept the unconscious spy into his arms and strode off to find Enjolras.

Christine made her way to Erik, who had resumed human form. "That was certainly exciting. Th-"

"How didst thou do that?" asked Grantaire.

"Like I said yesterday, God is on our side," Erik replied, before returning his attention to Christine.

"Yes, but I cannot understand _how_ -"

"God is on our side," he repeated tersely.

The skeptic's brow furrowed. "But that doesn't -"

_"God is on our side so shut up and go away_. Christine, you were saying?"

Christine chuckled as Grantaire stormed off. "I just wanted to thank you for stepping in there. I've been handling the gunfire well enough, but that was, well..."

"No thanks needed." He smiled at her. "Now get out there and keep being the best fiancée I could ever ask for."

.

"You are the commander?"

"Yes," Enjolras affirmed.

Valjean indicated the man he was carrying, who had begun to stir. "Chagny betrayed us; he threatened to kill Christine."

"Erik's girl?"

"My daughter," he said, which was close enough to the truth. "Let me take care of the traitor."

"Certainly." Enjolras turned his attention to reloading his rifle, and that was that.

.

"What am I to do with you, then?" Valjean mused, his back to the other, standing in a secluded alley.

"Take thy revenge," Chagny said. "Isn't that what thou wantest? Isn't that what thou saidst thou wouldst do?"

"When I said I would take care of you, that was not quite what I meant, Inspector."

"What, then?"

Valjean frowned. If he simply let the man go free, the blood might as well be on his own hands. Nor could he be sure of preventing the suicide later, as the battle would likely go on for quite some time. "Come with me." He seized Chagny by the arm and began searching for rope.

Some time later, he found a sufficient length of it and returned to the alley. "Stand by that lamppost," he directed, and Chagny obeyed with a sneer. Valjean bound the spy to the post and turned to leave.

"Didst thou forget thy gun?" Chagny called out, but he went unanswered.

.

Eventually, a young man wandered near. He held a bottle in each fist, and only a slight sway in his step betrayed that the opened one wasn't his first. "Ho! it is our Icarus. Even two meters off the ground was too high, and he has gotten himself a sunburn. Well, Icarus, how does it feel to have thy eyebrows burnt off like the wax on thy wings?"

"Oh, be quiet," Chagny grumbled. "Hast thou come to do what Valjean didn't?"

"Was he to kill thee for thy crimes? For shame, Inspector! He has yet to even aim at any man and thou thinkest so highly of thyself as to be the first. Alas, I have brought nothing but these, but wine may serve as well as bullets, if thou wilt."

"That it may, but sadly, my hands are tied."

"Are not all our hands tied with the cords of Life? There is so much that she does not permit us, the wretch. Let me loose a knot or two, and we shall soon drink together to Death. May she rescue many from Life's tyranny." He proceeded to free Raoul's right hand from the rope and hand him a bottle.

"Thou certainly art quite cheerful," Chagny said, taking a swallow nearly as soon as the wine was in his hand.

"It comes from my immense pleasure in the thought of dying for France. Such a worthy cause, they tell me! A dreary one, rather."

The inspector snorted. "What is this? A revolutionary who criticizes his revolution?"

"I am called Grantaire; and I suppose I make a habit of it."

.

_June 17, 1832_

As he did every few days, Erik popped into the house on Rue Plumet. "Hello, Azelma. How goes it?"

She folded her arms. "I'd be lots better if thou wouldst actually let me do something. Everyone else's off at whatever you're doing and I'm shut in here."

He shook his head. "You could be hurt."

"I'm fifteen! Only a year younger'n Lotte and Meg. How come they're not stuck here too?" But he was already gone.

.

_June 21, 1832_

"Where have you _been_, Erik? I was searching all over the barricade for you!"

"The barricade? Which one?"

"Which one? What are you talking about?" Christine retrieved the worn tome and flipped through it. "There weren't any other barricades. None. I know it talks about two other ones here, but see it's contrasting our one _now_ with two from _1848 -_"

He grinned. "Well, now there are three more. I happen to be quite good at rallying the people, I'll have you know."

"Since when?"

"All right, I may have brought Enjolras with me," he admitted. "He took the teleportation surprisingly well for his first time."

.

_July 14, 1832_

"As I'm sure you know, today is the day the French people took the Bastille forty-three years ago. Well, I figured that if there were ever a time for something truly momentous in our own revolution, today was the day. So you see, I set the palace on fire this morning."

.

_August 1, 1832_

On the intersection of the Rue Saint-Denis and the Rue de la Chanvrerie there stood a barricade. Shabby as its construction had been, it had nonetheless stood there for fifty-seven days and, its defenders swore, would stand there for longer still. It was formed from cobblestones and wooden beams, of iron bars and empty wine casks, of massive stone blocks and doors torn from their hinges, even of an omnibus and a mattress, and for this one day its length was dotted with roses in full bloom. They were red roses: red, one might suppose, for the Revolution. But today, that was not all the roses stood for.

On the far side of the barricade there attacked the forces of the National Guard. Living men fired at the ramshackle wall, and dead men littered the street. Each guardsman that fell had two more there to take his place; they had numbers on their side. They were there to defend France and her king, and so they shot at the rabble-rousers. But today, that was not all the National Guard attacked.

On the near side of the barricade there fought a large collection of rebels. A few had anticipated their rebellion for months or years, while others had found themselves caught up in it the day it began, or even had joined later on, but such distinctions had since faded. Some men fired through gaps in and over the top of the wall, but many men were otherwise occupied. Each insurgent that fell was taken with care to the wine-shop to be healed; they had magic on their side. They were there to defend France and her people, and so they fought even now. But today, that was not all the rebels fought for.

On the rose-bedecked ground floor of the wine-shop there had gathered a collection of these revolutionaries. The atmosphere was hushed, expectant, as if they had been interrupted in the middle of something important. They came here often to drink, to laugh, to find a moment of respite from the trying combat. The keeper of the place had resigned herself within the first week to the circumstances and had encouraged this behavior, so as to maintain a modest business despite her location on a battlefield. In this oasis of merriment could often be found the same sort of conversations as these particular people had always had in such places: there were discussions of women past, present, and future, there were arguments regarding philosophy, there were chatterings on whatever subject had caught someone's fancy, and all the while wine was imbibed as if it were water. But today, that was not all these revolutionaries had gathered for.

On a section of the room set aside for this purpose waited a young woman. Her years as she could count them numbered sixteen; her years as she could not count them numbered far more. She wore her black-and-cream dress, which she had worn many times over in the same performance of a singular opera. Brown curls tumbled down her back. She turned a golden band over and over in her hands. A small sapphire, set in silver, adorned her finger, and a rose adorned her ear. Every so often, someone would approach, she would draw the rose from her hair to hold it as she would a wand, and he would leave once more; otherwise, she was left with her thoughts. She anticipated the end of the fighting, as they all did: the defeat of the National Guard and the royalists, the institution of democracy upon France at long last. But today, that was not all the young woman was waiting for.

.

"Grandfather!"

M. Gillenormand turned around to find his estranged grandson striding into his study. He must have been imagining the faint whiff of smoke that came with him. "Erik! So you have returned! and what do you expect of me now, you rascal?"

"I would like to marry monsieur Mathieu's daughter, Grandfather. Will you allow this?" the young man asked politely, if urgently.

"Do as you please, boy."

"Thank you, Grandfather. Shall you be attending the wedding, then?"

He raised an eyebrow. "When would this be?"

"Today, Grandfather. I can take you now, if you would like."

"Today! You are certainly impatient."

"Perhaps," Erik conceded, smiling nervously. "Shall you come, Grandfather?"

"Perhaps," the old man countered. "Where would this be?"

"At the barricade, Grandfather. Shall you come?" he inquired once more.

"At the barricade! so that is what you have been doing? Betraying our King and country! I see I have spoken too soon. No, my boy, I rescind my consent to this. I shall not permit any action of yours as long as you continue to rebel in such a manner."

The smile dropped from Erik's face. "You're certain of that?"

"Absolutely."

"There's nothing I could say that would change your mind on the matter?" he pressed.

"Nothing, if you are committed to your foolish politics."

"All right." His manner shifted, becoming colder. For a moment, there seemed to be a club in his hands, but it vanished with a shake of his head. "I really should have left well enough alone after you granted me permission. But I did not." His narrowed eyes blazed golden, but that too dissipated. "So much the worse for me. Rather, so much the worse for you." Next was a flicker of rope, a noose that flashed in and out of existence. "I do not intend to leave this room without your consent to marry. My fiancée much prefers that I not be unnecessarily violent - I myself tend to find it grows more distasteful as time passes - and thus it is no difficulty to rein in my instinct when I care to." He hefted a rifle equipped with bayonet, considering it. "The weapon of choice of the revolutionary. Perhaps...but no." He dismissed it as he had the others. "However, my dear monsieur Gillenormand, this time I am not so inclined. There is a young woman who loves me and whom I love." He drew a sword from a sheath which had not been there a second prior. In an instant, he had forced the other man to the wall, the blade's point pressed to his throat. "I always was fond of the épée," he commented offhandedly. "I am going to marry her, Monsieur, and while I do not particularly care whether you will it or not in your heart, it would be best if you agreed." His lip curled. "Now, _Grandfather_, I shall ask my first question a second time. Will you allow my marriage to Christine?"

Wide-eyed and speechless, M. Gillenormand managed a slight nod, at which point Erik sheathed his blade and produced the document of matrimony. "Sign."

The grandfather did so.

"I shall not bother you again."

.

"I have it!" Erik announced as he reappeared, and those present breathed again.

"Excellent." The officiate, a fellow revolutionary who had by chance been qualified for this, took the papers and looked them over.

"And there is no one else?" Christine asked anxiously.

He shook his head. "Your father signed, as did two witnesses, the two of you, and now his grandfather has signed consent. That is all that is needed, and we may continue. Erik, with your ring, declare Christine to be your lawful wife."

Erik drew from his pocket a ring whose setting was empty. His eyes still burning as gold as the gleaming metal, he followed it with a pin, with which he pricked his finger. A single drop of blood fell and crystallized, and the setting now held a ruby. He took her hand and slid the ring onto her finger. "Christine, with this ring, you are my lawful wife."

"Christine, with your ring, declare Erik to be your lawful husband."

She opened her hand on the gold ring and returned the favor. "Erik, with this ring, you are my lawful husband."

"Now by the laws of France, I declare you lawfully wed. Erik, kiss your bride!"

They didn't have to be told twice.

.

_August 13, 1832_

"Grantaire, we told thee ober and ober nod to fraternize with our hostage!" Joly reprimanded. "Now he is loose. No doubd he is eben now reborting eberything."

"A bound man made for better company than any man preoccupied with combat, even so," the drunkard muttered.

.

_August 29, 1832_

Christine squinted at the foe. "Is it just me, or are there more uniforms out there than just French?"

"Have you not heard yet?" Gustave beamed. "We've fought so well that the English and Spanish have come to Louis-Philippe's defense. Soon we'll beat them, too!"

She had her reservations. True, it demonstrated how far they'd come over the past four months, but two more armies was a lot of men to fight. "That's… certainly something."

"Isn't it, though? And then we win!" He tossed a pistol in the air and caught it.

"Gustave, why don't you give that to someone else? A boy like you should stay safer," she suggested.

"Don't worry, I'll be fine. Thou art not my _mother_."

While she was processing that statement, Meg lowered her gun and chimed in. "Maybe not, but _I_ am your sister, and I say you're going to keep out of danger." As she shepherded the boy away from the barricade, Erik strolled over. "So what now?" she wondered.

He shrugged. "We keep fighting, I suppose. I could shift into griffin and -"

"No," Meg cut him off. "Not happening. Don't burn people alive, Erik."

"I was just going to say I could spook them," he protested.

She looked away sheepishly. "Oh. Yes, that works."

.

_November 26, 1832_

"The last of the other barricades have fallen!"

"Then we'll just have to fight harder! For France!"

"For France!"

.

_December 2, 1832_

"Azelma, how are you?" He frowned. "Azelma?"

A search of the building produced a note on the door to her room.

_Got bored. Going to live on the streets and pickpocket people._

"How am I going to explain this to Valjean?" he wondered.

.

_December 18, 1832_

"Are you all right, Christine? You look exhausted."

"It's nothing."

"You've been running yourself ragged for months!"

"I'm fine. Excuse me, there's someone over there I need to get to."

.

_January 7, 1833_

"I'm not sure how we spent more than eight years together in this Loop without having this conversation," Erik began.

"Which conversation would this be?" Meg inquired. "I can name quite a few we haven't had just off the top of my head."

"Such as?"

"For starters, we haven't yet discussed composing an opera to be sung by dolphins." She laughed. "Sorry, I know that's not what you meant. What did you want to say?"

He coughed. "I'm replacing Marius, and you Eponine. If there was ever a time to talk about...well...it would be this loop."

"Oh, _that_." She snorted. "That doesn't carry through to when you Wake Up and you know it. Besides, Unawake Me had never even heard of Unawake You yet, so there was basically zero chance there."

"How our _Unawake_ selves felt hadn't really factored into my concerns," he admitted.

Her eyes widened. "You think that _I_... Don't worry, I'm not. Our relationship is complicated, but it's definitely not a romantic one."

"You're sure about that?"

"Completely. No love here." Meg looked at him oddly. "Wait, do _you_ feel -"

Erik dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. "No, of course not. It's just that there are some Variants where you're very much -"

"And those are called Variants for a reason," she reminded him. "Look, I'll let you know if anything starts to develop, if that would help. I don't think I'll ever need to, though."

"I would appreciate that, yes." He chuckled. "So you're _not_ planning on taking a bullet for me and dying in a tragically romantic act of unrequited love?"

"Since when would I ever do that?" She lightly punched his shoulder, then rolled her eyes at a worn crimson cloth on the ground. "Great, the flag's fallen again. That must be, what, the fifth time this month? Hang on, I'll get it." Snatching it up by the pole, she scaled the barricade and set to lodging it back in place.

While she was thus occupied, Erik noticed a Spaniard taking aim at her. "Look out!" he called, but she merely glanced around in confusion. He scrambled up and shoved her back to the unevenly-cobblestoned street of the rebels' side. The patter of the gunfire was too constant to make out which was the man's shot by the sound of it, but he certainly felt it as he echoed Meg's fall. "Look what you made me do," he observed, oddly calm. He put a hand to his stomach and lifted it to his eyes; it came back red and wet.

"What was that you said about taking a bullet and dying?" Meg smirked down at him, although she seemed unsettled. "You know, I'm really tempted to just point and laugh right now. Lucky for you, I won't." She turned over her shoulder and raised her voice. "Christine! Come over here right now!"

"What is it - oh no." She knelt to his side. "You're going to be all right - you should already be getting better, why - oh, _no!_" she cried.

"I'm already all right," he told her.

"No, you're not - God, I dropped my baguette -" Christine frantically searched the ground for something she could use, a gun, a piece of wood, anything -

Erik shook his head. "Don't bother, I'll be fine. A little fall of rain and all that."

"But this is ridiculously preventable!" she cried.

"It's also entirely temporary. You'll see me again soon enough, right? Look, we were never going to win this with just the one barricade, not once England and Spain involved themselves. This had to happen sooner or later if I weren't going to burn them to the ground, and you knew that."

"Look, there's a rifle right over there -"

He sighed. "Christine, are you really going to deny me a dramatic last stand? Because I am very much in the mood for a dramatic last stand right now and you are keeping me from it."

She eyed him suspiciously. "...did you get yourself shot on purpose?"

"Definitely not," he assured, wincing slightly, "but I have the opportunity and I want to take it."

She gave the gun one last troubled glance, then met his gaze. "Fine, if you insist, but I'm joining you."

"All right then." Erik climbed to his feet, flashing her a smile as his shirt grew ever redder. "So let's give them something to remember."  
Christine returned it. "Follow my lead." She mounted the barricade and helped him up. A shot from behind barely missed her arm; their foes had seen them. Well, that was to be expected. She surveyed the crowd of rebels, all uncertain as to what she was thinking. "To the will of the people!" she shouted, raising a fist to the sky.

Erik laughed. "To the health of progress!"

"Fill your heart with a rebellious wine -" A bullet pierced her side.

"And to tomorrow, faithful friend -" Another hit his shoulder.

"We want to create light!" she rallied.

He shifted to griffin and reared into the air. _Despite the obscurity of the night!_

_"To illuminate the world and to change life!"_ they called out together, and the Amis and assorted populace cheered. Christine leapt to Erik's back, and as one they charged at the enemy.

Garnets and rubies littered the ground behind them. As the gems fell, faster and faster with each passing second, they formed a trail that grew ever longer and ever denser. They twinkled in the glow of sunset, sprinkled liberally over the cobblestones, in the cracks, on the fallen Guard members and their allies; they were as bright a shade of scarlet as the roses which had once festooned the area, as the tattered flag of the revolution, as the fresh-fallen blood which stained the glimmering stream. The path began at the top of the barricade, led straight to the mass of soldiers, and wound its way through the forces. There were notably more dead and injured men near the ribbon of red than away from it. It ended in a puddle around two young revolutionaries lying side by side, panting with laughter and adrenaline and a great deal of pain.

"There's a new life about to start, you know." Erik coughed and smiled weakly.

Christine lay her head on his chest. "Then I'll see you when tomorrow comes."

.

"Great, just great." Meg groaned, turning her back to the barricade to face the throng. She shouted, "Don't throw away your lives, people! Okay, yes, Erik and Christine just died. That doesn't mean that you should join them in 'noble' sacrifice, but it _does_ mean that if you get yourselves shot, there's no miracle cure and you probably _will_ join them. Remember that that is _not good!_ There is such a thing as strategic retreat! They outnumber us and we are going to start losing men if we continue. We have lost this battle, but not the war! But we _should_ stop trying to win it on this battlefield! We are students, are we not? We are lawyers and teachers and workers and farmers, are we not? We'll return to our normal lives and we'll change the world with words and actions and petitions! And we have families! Unless they're also here, we haven't seen them in seven months! What do you say, everyone? Let's all go home!" Her speech utterly failed to rouse a single cheer, and she rolled her eyes at the scores of men before her, each just as steadfastly devoted to his cause as he had been back in June. "No one? Good job! I was just making sure that nobody was wavering in cowardice! Yeah! Let's all die for France! You stupid suicidal idiots," she added under her breath, "with not an ounce of common sense between the lot of you."

"Leave them be," Valjean advised, walking to her side. "Some will have cut their lives short, and that is their choice. Others, those who have always come here to fight, have lived seven months longer, and is that not enough? This is what they want, Meg, and their minds will not be changed. I have tried. It is best to let them have their way."

"Fine. Hey, Gustave!" She caught her brother - God, but that was still so strange - by the arm as he darted by. "Go and find the Amis and everyone else who was close to Christine and Erik. Tell them to sneak away from the barricade at some point and meet us at Erik's grandfather's place tomorrow. Tonight I'm going to climb over to bring those two away, and we'll see if we can give them a proper funeral. You in?"

"Sure I'm in."

"Good boy." She gave him a push, and he was on his way. "See, that's how you save at least a handful of people. Will you help me get the bodies? I don't think I'll be able to carry both."

He nodded solemnly.

"Mademoiselle, Monsieur," greeted Enjolras as he strode over.

"Did Gustave fill you in?" Meg asked.

"Yes."

"Well?"

"No." He gave one sharp, brusque shake of his head. "There will be time for funerals later. For now, I will better honor them by continuing the fight." He turned on his heel and moved to his former position, raising his rifle once more.

She looked to Valjean. "I don't suppose any of the others will choose differently, will they."

The old man sighed. "They never do."

.

That night, Meg was standing by the barricade, waiting, when she heard the patter of little feet. A shadow ran over and resolved itself into Gustave. He reached out to her and she responded, sweeping him up in her arms. "Meg!" he wailed.

"Hush, now, we don't want to wake anyone," she told him. "What's wrong?"

He lowered his voice as well as an upset child could. "Meg, please, I'm scared. What a dream - an awful dream!"

"Don't be afraid. You're all right. What was it about?"

His wet eyes caught the starlight. "Everyone was dead," he whimpered.

"Oh, Gustave," Meg breathed. "No, honey, everything's fine. Don't cry." She met Valjean's concerned gaze as he approached and said as an aside, "This is something he does sometimes - but I know I never actually drowned him, so I think it's safe to say that everyone dying _isn't_ inevitable."

"...Drowned him?"

"Never mind. Long story. Gustave, would you be kind enough to go to the other side, please?" Sniffing, he nodded, and she heaved him up to get him started. "There's a good boy. Valjean?"

"Yes?" He paused, one foot already on a piece of wood projecting from the barricade.

"I just thought of something. You two go on ahead, I'll be right with you."

"Of course." Smiling at her, he deftly clambered over.

.

Christine and Erik were still lying where they died, Valjean noted as he made his way to them, as were many fallen soldiers. The foe didn't seem to be very prompt about moving their dead. Shifting his hold on Gustave (the boy had fallen asleep), he sank to the ground. He brushed a lock of hair from Christine's face, tracing her cheekbone with his finger.

"I'm not sure I've ever seen her dead," Meg said quietly from behind. She moved over to kneel beside him. "Normally, when she dies, the loop crashes. Because she's the Anchor. But so are you, I suppose, so that doesn't really apply, now, does it?"

She picked up the other girl, holding her gently in her arms, and Valjean did likewise with Erik. They began moving through the Rue Saint-Denis, stepping softly on the cobbled street.

"What exactly didst thou do back there?" he murmured.

"For one part, all of their weapons are now in my Pocket. For the other, why don't you look behind you?"

He did so. "Oh."

"I don't have many Looping tricks yet. It was the only feasible thing I could come up with, but I think it should work."

"I see."

The rest of their trek was spent in silence.

Atop the lonely barricade, the chill breeze of midwinter midnight set a white flag fluttering.

.

_July 13, 1833_

The sun shone brightly over the Luxembourg Gardens. It didn't seem as if the world were about to end, but then again, Meg reflected, it never did. "So this is it, then?" she asked, tossing a pebble into the pond. "The last few minutes of the loop?"

Valjean nodded. "How long until we see each other again, wouldst thou say?"

She watched the ripples moving across the formerly-still water. There was probably some sort of metaphor there, but it was beyond her. "Who knows? Yggdrasil is a fickle thing. Probably a couple millennia at the very least. But then, you'll get to see Cosette again. You must miss her."

"I do." He smiled at her. "All things considered, however, I believe that I had very good substitutes."

"Thank you. Speaking as a girl who rarely has a father, I think you did a very good job of it as well."

"Thank thee. I do what I can."

"You certainly do." She chuckled.

"The view I take is that one can learn a lesson from every loop they go through," he mused.

"And what did you learn from this one? That Yggdrasil was a thing?" Meg asked.

"Something like that." He squinted at something happening on the other side of the pool and gave a start, drawing Meg's attention and laughter. "Never mind," Jean Valjean said. "I do believe I learned that Azelma is going to land herself in prison one day."

Meg Giry smiled wryly. "Diamonds never sparkle bright if they aren't set just right," she replied. "But you'll have as long as you need to pull it off."

* * *

And here we are. It's been a year to the day since I started writing the Phantom Loops. Fourteen chapters and 43,650 words about Christine, Erik, Raoul, Gustave, and Meg inside a giant broken multiversal tree computer, and there's still no end in sight.

In addition to the new chapter, I've rewritten chapter one. (In the year I've been writing this, I've grown quite a bit as a writer, and I've become increasingly dissatisfied with the quality of my first snips.) I hope you like the new version as much as I do.

My thanks to Alibi27 for all of the invaluable help you've provided behind the scenes. To Igenlode Wordsmith, for the thoughtful reviews you always leave. To the Infinite Loops community over at Spacebattles, for introducing me to this setting a year ago and helping me along since then. And, most importantly, to each and every one of you out there reading this right now. You are all absolutely wonderful. Here's to another year.


	15. Loops 15

_(Alibi27)_

_"Y'know, I don't always give my mind blindly. But when I do, I follow hypnotic masked strangers into my mirror."_

_"..."_

_"What? I'm trying something new."_

* * *

15.1

Eyes sparkling, Christine burst into the dressing room. She breathed in deeply, filling her lungs with the heady pink scent of summer and gunpowder and love, never more appreciative that her first lead performance earned her roses of all things. She plucked a singular black-beribboned bloom from the table and pressed the red flower to her heart. She then twirled a few times for good measure, laughing all the while. The world was just so wonderful, she needed to hug someone -

The door opened. Perfect! "Little Lotte let -"

"Raoul!" she greeted, sweeping him up in her arms and kissing him on each cheek. "It's been years! How have you been?"

"Good, good. Better now that I've found you again."

"You're even sweeter than you were in our childhood," she told him, which elicited the most charming of grins.

"And you're even lovelier," he returned, and bent to brush his lips against her hand. "Why don't you come to dinner with me, and we can catch up?"

She shrugged, her smile turning apologetic. "I'm afraid I'll have to remain here for the evening. I'm sure my teacher would like to critique me while my performance is still fresh, after all."

"You take your lessons in this dressing room?"

"Sometimes. He has his eccentricities. How else would he keep himself so shrouded in his precious mystery?"

Raoul sighed. "_Must_ you stay, Christine?"

"It _is_ thanks to him that you could see me on stage tonight."

"Oh, I suppose," he allowed.

"There's no reason we can't do it tomorrow night, of course," she said. This time, their kiss was not merely on the cheeks.

"Very true," he replied as they pulled away. "Until tomorrow, then, Christine."

"Until tomorrow, Raoul."

The door closed, and her eyes lingered on it fondly. So what if no one else was Awake? She was certainly going to make the most of it. Several minutes passed; she didn't bother changing.

"Insolent boy –"

Her eyes closed of their own volition as she recalled the particular words. The document itself was in her Pocket; she preferred to keep it safely in there. "City of Paris," she recited loudly and clearly in interruption, "First Arrondissement, Rue Saint-Denis. Certificate of Marriage. We, the Maire of the First Arrondissement of Paris, certify that Monsieur Erik le Fantome" (no need to confuse him with Mathieus and Pontmercys) "and Madame Christine Daaé were married -"

The mirror slid open, and it was her turn to be interrupted. "_What?_"

She laughed. "Were married in this street," she resumed. "In witness whereof, we delivered the present certificate to serve in the marriage ceremony, in compliance with the Law of 9 December 1810. Made in the barricade of the new republic, the first of August 1832." She let out a soft chuckle at the memories from just five months ago.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" the Phantom asked from beside her.

Christine smiled at him. "It means I'll be having dinner with the vicomte tomorrow." As she spoke, she closed her hand on empty air and opened it again to reveal the ring Erik had given her. "But when I do, I'll be wearing this."

* * *

15.2

"He's not Mephistopheles, you know!" Something brushed against Raoul's legs. He looked down, rubbed at his eyes, and looked again.

"Meow?" the masked man mewed, clad in a glittery black-and-white cat costume. He batted at his rival's pant leg and licked at a curled hand.

There was a long pause.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Meow." He produced a top hat from...somewhere, reached inside, and pulled a kitten out of it.

"_Wonderful_. I believe I will take Miss Giry's advice after all. Leave this mad, mad place behind." The vicomte stormed out of the bar.

Standing, Erik adjusted his bow tie and smirked. "I suppose I still wasn't _Mephi_stoffelees," he mused, "but close enough."

* * *

15.3

Christine groaned. "Too. Much. Champagne."

Meg groaned. "Can someone turn off the sun?"

Gustave groaned. "Any much champagne is too much champagne."

"Grow up, Gustave, you'll get a taste for it."

"That's what you said last time."

Erik groaned. "I'm tired, I'm hungover, and I wrote a damn pop song while I was drunk last night. A pop song!"

Raoul grinned, video camera in hand as he panned over the wreckage. "Lightweights."

* * *

15.4

"Where are we going?" Erik asked. "It's not that I don't appreciate that you want to spend time with me, but it's incredibly late. Very early, in fact."

"Hush, you," Meg commanded, continuing to hustle him down the street. "You'll love it."

They heard the place shortly before they saw it; the annoyed look he gave her was nearly invisible in the dark. Choosing to ignore it, she pushed him through the door.

"Meg—" he tried.

"What?" she shouted over the throbbing beat.

"Meg!"

_"What?"_ she repeated.

He dragged her out of the building and began storming back the way they had come. "That is _not_ what music of the night _means_ and _you know it!"_

* * *

15.5

"So do you end your days with me  
Or do you send him to his _grave?_" the Phantom demanded.

"Why make her lie to you to save -"

"What if you both just share?" Christine suggested.

The two Unawake men stared at her, speechless.

"No, really. I like you, _and_ I like you. Why not?" She shrugged.

The Punjab lasso slipped from the Phantom's slack hands; Raoul failed to take his opportunity to remove himself from mortal danger.

"Is the problem that it's each other, or is it just the whole concept of bigamy?"

Over the nonexistent sound of either of them saying anything, she could hear the angry song of the approaching mob.

"Oh, whatever."

Raoul began to find his voice, but he lost it once more at the sight of Christine stripping to her undergarments and swimming away.

* * *

15.6

"Did I not instruct that Box Five be kept empty?" The voice was familiar, as were the words, but she had not heard the two combined before. Then came an anxious "How was that, Papa? Was I good?"

"Wonderful." Although the owner of the second voice was concealed just as much as that of the first, he still seemed able to sense everyone's confusion. "What? Haven't any of you heard of 'Take Your Son to Work Day'? Family is important, after all."

"He's here – the Phantom of the Opera," Christine said, struggling not to laugh. She had known Erik was apparently a single father this Loop, but this... "And Phantom Junior," she added, and a chuckle ran through the audience despite themselves.

"Your part is silent, little toad," Carlotta snapped.

"You're the toad, Madame Toad!" The high tone rose even higher in mocking falsetto. "'I like to hop and eat flies and things! Yum!' That's you. You even sound like a toad!"

By now the crowd was roaring, but the grinning Christine could still make out Erik's voice.

"Good boy."

* * *

15.7

The Phantom hadn't shown up behind the mirror; Christine hadn't received any Pings, so of course she was curious. She walked through the twisted maze of corridors, took a spare gondola from her Pocket, and poled herself towards the man's home.

The acoustics of the cavern brought voices to her ear before she even saw the lair itself.

"You were singing so awfully this morning that I couldn't help myself."

"So you dropped the curtain on me?"

"What else was I to do? But the real question is, my little toad, was it sufficient?"

"Mm, no... Punish me more, oh Angel."

"If my diva commands."

"Nope." Christine returned to shore and practically sprinted back to her room. "Nope nope _nope_."

* * *

15.8

"No."

"But Erik –"

"No."

"You can't –"

"No."

"I see where you're coming from, but –"

"No." The masked composer finished setting the last of the gunpowder barrels in the subterranean cavern below the Disco Populaire, then hefted a torch. "I won't let this happen. I'm going to cleanse the whole damn world with fire if I have to."

"Erik, you know the Admins hate it when we crash a Loop. We've survived worse, haven't we?"

He hesitated. "Christine..."

Strains of horrifically-out-of-place music drifted across their ears.

"_Bordel de merde!_" And the flame scorched an arcing trail into the collection of barrels ready to blow.

* * *

15.9

"I've dispatched half a dozen  
Each one a cousin  
All of them quite by design  
It is not a defense  
It just makes no sense  
This murder was not one of mine!" fretted Erik D'Ysquith Navarro, the ninth Earl of Highhurst, just before Awaking.

"Stop! Wait! _What?!_" he cried.  
"Why must _I_ always be the damn killer?  
Is it all one of Yggdrasil's tricks?  
I mean, what did I _do?—_  
Don't answer that, you—  
Why, that overgrown bundle of sticks!"

The constable frowned. "Is...that a confession?"

"No, I didn't do it. But I _did_ do in the other six. By some _incredibly_ convoluted—bees, I tell you, _bees_—if I really wanted to kill them so badly, I should have just—" His hands worked an imaginary noose in the air. "And for what? A _title?_ I'm not even English! Well, I suppose I am _now_, but that's beside the point! _Merde! _Damn tree," he growled.

"...Right. Insanity defense, I presume?"

Erik sighed. "Yeah, sure."

.

"Monsieur le président—I mean—My Lord? Right. My Lord. I plead innocent to Lord Adalbert's murder on account of I killed all the rest but someone else apparently got to him first." Erik shrugged. "I also plead innocent to those murders on account of no longer being the same person. I wouldn't have done them if it were me, nor would I have married my wife. Sorry, Phoebe," he called to where she was sitting among the witnesses. "Nothing against you, really, but there's one woman for me and you're not her. I'm actually a time traveler. And French. And the only people _I've_ killed are a stage hand and an actor. Others as well, I suppose, but those two are the only ones I'd really consider _murder_. Of course, I didn't bother with silly things like ice-skating "accidents". Admittedly, Salome's demise was both deserving and poetic; with _that_ kind of acting, who wouldn't want to replace the stage-prop bullets with real ones? But a noose is far more practical, don't you think? Of course you do, that's what I'll be getting if I'm sentenced here, after all." He grinned up at the jury of his 'peers'. Him, an earl! How ridiculous. "Oh! This is 1909, isn't it? That's...definitely before the real backup, but the serial's being published. Perhaps some of you have read it." Erik bowed deeply. "The Phantom of the Opera, at your service."

Among the witnesses, Countess Phoebe D'Ysquith Navarro leaned over to Mrs. Christine Holland. "Is he trying to convince them he's mad? He's certainly half-convinced me."

Christine hid a snicker with her hand as the man before them pulled a large organ from his Pocket and began playing an upbeat tune. "Oh, he's barely gotten started, it seems."

"I'm _not_ the ninth Earl of Highhurst!" Erik sang loudly.  
"I'm the last one you'd expect!"

* * *

15.10

"Erik."

"Mm?" he said, mouth occupied with sandwich.

Meg stared at him, gesturing the way she came. "Explain to me why I ran across a robotic Raoul walking around."

"Mm," he replied with a shrug, then swallowed. "I Awoke to find I'd made a Christine robot, so I decided to complete the set."

"I will take your plate now, Master," a rather ugly robot wearing a rather ugly dress announced in a croaking voice, leaning over to do just that. "Christine sings better than me and you sing better than my husband and I am a stuck-up toad," it added.

"Thanks, Carbotta," Erik said absentmindedly as it wandered off to somewhere else in Phantasma.

Meg followed the departing android with her eyes. "You really felt the need to program _that_."

"...maybe."

* * *

15.11

One day in 1870, twenty-year-old Christine Awoke to the sound of "Christine Daaé can sing it, sir." A Ping received no responses, and she had no plans in particular, so she resolved to play it her typical baseline-but-better.

That night, she politely but firmly made it clear she would not have dinner with Raoul then, to pacify the Phantom, but left the option open for the future, to still Raoul's protestations (and because she most certainly did enjoy such dinners).

The next morning, she did nothing particularly provoking like removing other people's articles of clothing; when she returned to the world above, she and the Phantom parted on good terms.

A month and a half of long and familiar rehearsal later, she mimed Serafimo upon the stage. The performance was not interrupted for the simple reason that she had slipped the would-be interruption a sleeping potion.

In a year's time, in 1871, twenty-one-year-old Christine attended a delightful masquerade ball with Raoul. As usual, her erstwhile mentor made his appearance with scores of both music and insults. When he approached her menacingly, she took the opportunity to plant a short kiss on his lips. In the intense bewilderment that followed, he somehow managed to fall into his own mirror-pit trap. She quickly assured Raoul that it didn't mean anything, but it got results, didn't it?

After another two months of rehearsal (new shows took somewhat longer, since no one—well, almost no one—was familiar with them), she'd managed to convince the managers that the only thing more likely than the Phantom watching the show was him trying to take part in it. So Piangi went to the bathroom between scenes, "accidentally" didn't come back in time, and managed to only be replaced and not murdered.

When she was brought down to the Phantom's lair, she interrupted his mild brooding with a firm hug that also just happened to keep him from getting anywhere near Raoul. She then proceeded to tie him to his organ with his own lasso (it wouldn't hold him long, but it would do), give him one last kiss (just to keep him pacified, of course, or at least that's what she told Raoul), and left with her fiancé on the boat. It was a relatively subdued event, really; it was hard, she'd found, to rile up a mob when the victim's only crime was extortion (and, arguably, loitering). The kidnapping notion wasn't very motivating either, since half of Paris was half-convinced that the two of them had been having some sort of sordid affair the whole time.

She didn't hear from her Angel again, although he was evidently still down there considering the occasional notes that still showed up.

A few more months and she had a very nice wedding with Raoul. It was around this time that the notes finally stopped. In an entirely unrelated move, madame Giry tendered her resignation from the Populaire.

Nine months and a new year later, twenty-two-year-old Christine gave birth to a beautiful baby Gustave.

1878 brought twenty-eight-year-old Christine the pleasant surprise of her six-year-old son Awakening. The next few years were spent convincing Raoul that yes, it was perfectly normal for children that age to write complex works for a full orchestra and dabble in studying advanced chemistry on the side. A boy needed his hobbies, after all.

In 1881, thirty-one-year-old Christine didn't observe the nonexistent ten-year anniversary of the not-burning-down of the Populaire. And for some reason, she never received her invitation to sing at Phantasma. She had gone down this path before; all other times, key events still happened, albeit improved versions of them. Perhaps this was a variant of some kind.

Stranger yet, 1881 also didn't bring the end of the Loop. Eleven years had passed, the same eleven years that enclosed nearly the entirety of her life nowadays, but the world had not reset. Had the Loops ended for good? That couldn't be right. The Admins would have been celebrating so furiously that the whole tree would have known the moment it happened. Was this some sort of expansion? She had heard of other Branches experiencing those...

Regardless, time ticked on into 1882, then 1883, then 1884. Gustave turned eighteen, something neither of them had ever really expected to happen for eons. (The celebration was such that the neighbors telephoned the police: could people be arrested for breaking the laws of physics? No, Monsieur, that doesn't fall under our jurisdiction. Perhaps you should telephone God next—it seems more His business if anything.) He grew into a handsome young man whose compositions were remarked upon throughout Europe. Christine and Raoul aged gracefully with no major mishaps and faded somewhat from public view. Time didn't seem to have any intention of stopping.

It was in 1910 that sixty-year-old Christine received a letter in a shaky but familiar hand.

The Phantom had absented himself from her life for nearly forty years; he must have been eighty or ninety by now, but he was evidently still around, and it seemed he wanted Christine to sing at Phantasma. Even though he must have known she was long past her prime. (She could easily remedy that with a few tricks, but he had no way of knowing _that_.) She called up Gustave, and her little family dutifully boarded the Persephone to cross the Atlantic.

Ten days later, they arrived. "Mr. Y" revealed himself to her, but fell asleep in an armchair partway through "Beneath a Moonless Sky". He was still there when Raoul and Gustave returned from the bar; she shrugged innocently, Raoul let out an exasperated sigh, and the three of them (well, mostly Gustave) carried the snoozing old composer to the lobby and dumped him on a bench.

The next day, she and her husband greeted a dear old friend who really was both dear and old. With her mother now dead and her boss now feeble, Meg had taken over running the place and during the last thirty years had regained most of the mental health she had lost in the ten before them.

Most of the original events were superseded by the tedium of minding a senile Phantom.

Due to her failing ability to project, Christine had to sing in a smaller room than the stage she was accustomed to. She also didn't quite manage "passionate woman" so much as she did "sweet old lady".

That night, halfway through a casual conversation with her son about what you could or could not make glasses out of, Christine finally found herself younger, stronger, and about to fill in for La Carlotta.

She had realized what was going on when the letter came, honestly. Her Branch had always been a bit uncertain about the date—you only had to look at the backups, where she sang "Think of Me" in 1870 and "Love Never Dies" in 1910, with more or less ten years between the two. Normally, the Loop would go with one or the other, adjusting the remaining dates as appropriate. Never before had it gone with _both_, though, not like this.

The Loops were _weird_.

* * *

15.12

The crisp wind of a new November swept up petals and leaves, speckling the grey of the graveyard with reds, yellows, oranges, pinks, whites. The day had been filled with visitors in subdued colors, holding vigil over graves, watering the earth with tears, arranging chrysanthemums before the stones of their loved ones. At the moment, there were only four, all standing before one mausoleum.

"You were a good man, a good violinist, and a good father, Monsieur Daaé."

"I never knew you, but judging by your daughter, that is my misfortune by far."

"I wish I could have met you, Grand-papa."

The fourth drew out the pause. "I haven't seen you for millions of years," she said finally. "That's too long."

"It is," the first agreed, and said no more. There was a time for comforting words and hopeful suggestions, but today was reserved for grief.

They stood there in silence for a while longer, then, setting their bouquets on the steps of the tomb, departed.

* * *

15.13

"Hey, there she is!" And so it began.

"Miss Daaé!"

"Miss Daaé!"

"Christine!"

"Miss Daaé!"

"Her name is Madame de Chagny. Now stand aside. Stand aside, please. No pictures!" Raoul growled. Each snap of a camera received a verbal snap in return, and that was as much as they deserved. "Do you hear? No pictures of my wife – _no pictures of the boy!_" He hastily stepped in front of Gustave, trying to shield the child, but there remained the clicks from behind and the cameramen craning around. He had to settle for seizing his son's hand and trying to get to the carriage as quickly as possible.

There was no carriage waiting for them. He groaned.

"...why aren't you singing at the Met?" some reporter or another finished, looking expectantly at Christine.

Raoul quickly answered for her. "My wife has been engaged by a well-known impresario –"

"Well-known?"

"No one's ever seen the guy!"

"Hey, how do you lure the great Christine Daaé" (de Chagny. De Chagny de Chagny de Chagny. Raoul wanted to make the correction again, but it would be no use. In the ten years since their wedding, it never had been. It was as if everyone wanted to pretend that their marriage had never happened. Or maybe it was simply that they fell over themselves so much for her that he was merely an afterthought. He probably should have just taken her name when they married and saved everyone the trouble.) "over here, anyways?"

"It's the money, right?" Ah, yes, the familiar money jab. How very original.

"Yeah, all that American moolah?"

"Hey, Christine, what'cha gonna sing, Yankee Doodle Moolah?" The man didn't know what chaos that question was going to stir up. Or, most likely, he did, and was going to turn that chaos into tomorrow's headline for fun and profit.

Raoul could see Christine's smirk already. "My wife is an artist, sir," he bit out, hoping against hope that make them back off.

It never did. "Yeah, and her art is paying off your gambling debts. It's what they're saying in France!"

"Is it true you left your entire fortune on a roulette table in Monte Carlo?" another of the swarm demanded over the jeers of the rest.

No. No, it was not. "Why, you insolent jackal! How dare you!"

"Father?" And the boy drew attention to himself because _of course he did_.

"Not now, Gustave." But it was too late.

"Hey, kid!" Oh, no. "How's it feel to have a famous mother?"

"Is this your first time in America? What do you plan to do in Coney?"

_Don't answer, Gustave, don't answer_, Raoul pleaded mentally. _God only knows what they're going to make of your words_. In all his life, the press had never been on his side. Never. From the insinuations of premarital...acts back at the Opera, to the most recent incident in the French papers. Yes, he had wagered a sizable chunk of his wealth in a single game. But that had been the _one _round that he'd _won_, and besides that, he would have never been fool enough to bet _everything_ on a gamble. (If he had to admit it to himself, he probably would have done far worse if Christine hadn't been with him that night.) But of course they'd twisted events to suit their own purposes. They always did. And for all people knew on this side of the pond, he really had lost it all.

"I – I want to learn how to swim," Gustave began, which was innocuous enough.

Raoul hoped that his worry was founded in excessive cynicism, but he intervened nonetheless. "I said, leave the child alone! God's sake –"

"Yankee Doodle went to town  
With his bags of money  
Riding in on a cash cow  
'Cause he thought it was funny

Yankee Doodle, make some dough  
Yankee Doodle Moolah  
Mind the market and the stocks  
And with the cash be handy!" Christine crowed.

_Every time._ Raoul glared at his wife as she granted him a wide, carefree grin, the reporters' pencils scratching away eagerly at their notepads. _Every damn time._ And of course, when he tried to talk to her about it later, when he showed her the papers with all their mocking commentary, how did she respond? Remind him that all publicity was good publicity—or ignore him and pull out a book to read with her sleight-of-hand trick—or, worst of all, do nothing at all but shrug innocently—and always wearing that infuriating smile of hers, like she knew something he didn't. It was as if she were incapable sometimes of even acting reasonable, which for an actress shouldn't have been all that hard. _Theatre_ people. He loved her, of course, no one would or could possibly dispute that. (If he had to admit it to himself, he did enjoy her antics at least a bit.) But that didn't prevent her mischief from being entirely socially inappropriate.

Sometimes he wondered just how different it would have been if Christine hadn't been so..._puckish__._

* * *

15.1 - When tomorrow came.

15.2 - Oh! Well, I never! Was there ever a cat so clever as magical Mister Y?

15.3 - Bonne Année!

15.4 - Loudly, chaotically, music shall surround you...

15.5 - Cutting the Gordian lasso.

15.6 - The Phantom of the Opera, now with fifty percent more Phantom.

15.7 - The other E/C. Realistically, the only way it could or would work out.

15.8 - Ah, ah, ah, ah, burning alive, burning alive

15.9 - A Gentlephantom's Guide to Love and Murder.

15.10 - Clearly the Phantom's finest hour.

15.11 - It's amazing how some people (looking at you, ALW) have the talent of getting dates wrong when they came up with the dates in the first place. It also makes for good Loop fodder.

15.12 - Written way back when it was actually the right time of year: Toussaint.

15.13 - Sometimes it doesn't take a world-changing act to change your world for the better.

**Apologies for the long delay! "Hooray one year" wasn't supposed to mean "hiatus time", I _swear_. On a related note, I'm considering _possibly_ adding Les Mis snips here, like how HTTYD was expanded into general dragon-type loops, or Ace Attorney added Professor Layton. It would help get the update rate up to something reasonable again while I get back into the swing of things. The fic would still be mostly Phantom, I promise. Thoughts?**


	16. Joyeaux Poisson d'Avril!

Christine a levé ses yeux au ciel. « Oui, Erik, je sais que tu te croix astucieux, mais ça ? C'est vraiment une bêtise très puéril. »  
Erik a haussé ses épaules et a répondu : « Peut-être. Il faut avouer que c'est drôle quand même, non ?  
— Ah oui, parce que attacher les poissons du papier aux les dos de gens, c'est très mûr. J'attendrais ça de Gustave, ou encore Meg ... Toi, j'ai attendu meilleur, elle a réprimandé, bien qu'elle se soit battue contre un sourire.  
— Mais Christine, c'est traditionnel. C'est une rigolade inoffensive qui ne blesse personne.  
— Personne mais l'ego de Carlotta ! elle a dit en riant. »  
Erik a arboré. « Vois, tu admets que c'est amusant.  
— Oui, oui, puéril, immature et amusant néanmoins, Christine a dit. T'amuse.  
— Je le ferai ! »  
En hochant sa tête, Christine s'en est allée. Mais elle n'a pas remarqué le poisson sur sa propre dos.  
« Joyeaux Poisson d'Avril ! » Erik a appelé.


	17. Loops -1

**Otherwise known as Phantom Time Loops, Behind the Scenes.**

**All of the below is dubiously canon, if that.**

* * *

**Bar snips (****when a whole lot of Loopers Awaken in a Loop with a bar. They hang out, drink, play drinking games...which don't seem much like drinking games, come to think of it, more like chatting about previous Loops, but that's what they're called, anyway.)**

* * *

_"Ok guys, I have a new drinking game; best way you've dealt with Umbridge." _**Reference: Harry Potter**

"I know how to deal with toads - I have one of my own." Erik grinned. "She croaked constantly whenever I was nearby, which drove her crazy because there was no magic involved. When she figured out it was me, I shifted to griffin-man for the quill punishment. She freaked out when I started bleeding rubies."

* * *

_"...who here has in person seen the most oddball, and possibly implausable, way Rincewind has escaped the jaws of death?" _**Reference: Discworld**

Raoul took a sip of water. "He was replacing Buquet - the man almost always ends up dead when the Phantom's not Awake, like that time. Up above the stage, he was running away from our unfriendly neighborhood Opera Ghost... So Rincewind gets caught, the Phantom slips the lasso over his head - and then next thing we know, we have a wizzard dangling by his ankle over the chorus girls' heads. Really confused the hell out of everyone, especially when he started swinging around and doing the 'I'm Flying' bit from Peter Pan. _Especially_ when the Phantom joined in."

* * *

_"What is the weirdest weapon proficiency you've acquired over the Loops?" _and _"Oddest musicals you've seen based on your baseline?"_

"Once I tied up an unawake Phantom with his own lasso. I was intending to use him as a piñata, but ended up learning just how well you can use 'person on a rope' as a weapon. No, don't ask me how." Raoul glanced at someone's drink, having none of his own. "And for the musical question? You'd think recursive musicals wouldn't be a thing, but once we found ourselves in a Variant the Hub calls 'Phantom of the Paradise'. **Reference: Phantom of the Paradise ** It turns out Erik isn't actually a fan of rock, much to everyone's surprise."

* * *

_"...who can do their own rendition of Modern Major General from Gilbert and Sullivan?" _**Reference: Pirates of Penzance**

"I am the very model of an operatic criminal—"

"Erik, you sang that for ten Loops straight when you wrote it. Shut. Up." Meg rolled her eyes. "He can do the whole thing in one breath by now, I swear."

* * *

_"Dumbest villain?"_

"I've got one if you want," Raoul suggested. "I snuck into the Phantom's cave -"

"It's a lair."

"Yeah, yeah. In any case, I snuck into his damp moldy hole in the ground and hid behind that wedding manikin of his." He smirked at the glowering Phantom. "When he came in, I, a man who sounds absolutely nothing like Christine, sang a few lines of Think of Me. Before I knew it, he was all over the doll, kissing and caressing and murmuring sweet nothings as if he thought it were the real living Christine. If that's not dumb, I'd like to know what is."

Erik groaned. "Make one mistake when you're drunk..." **Would be dubiously canon even if it weren't a bar snip, tbh.**

* * *

_"Worst version of yourself?"_

"There are too many variants where Erik's ridiculously sympathetic and I'm the worst of abusers," Raoul complained. **Reference: _You know who you are_.**

Erik sighed. "For me, it would have to be that one variant backed up as _that book_. **Reference: Leroux** I like to think I've gotten over my self-esteem issues from baseline, but I swear, I loathe every detail of that me."

Meg grinned. "He loathes the face, the voice, the clothing..." **Reference: Wicked**

"...Well, maybe not the voice," he amended.

Chuckling, Meg mouthed, "Went right over his head."

* * *

_"Worst accident in matchmaking__."_

"I," Christine sighed, "attempted to set up an Unawake Phantom with madame Giry, so he could be out of the way for Raoul and myself. By the end of the Loop, he was still going after me and trying to kill Raoul as normal. With, of course, the added complications that Raoul was having to fend off Carlotta, madame Giry was attempting to sway _my_ interest, and Piangi was madly in love with Gustave, my nine-year-old son, who I'm pretty sure had a crush on Meg." **I considered elaborating in actual snip form instead of just bar snip, but, yeah _um_.**

* * *

_"What everyone's favorite instrument they've learned to play is," which quickly escalated past mere conversation into a full-on group performance._

Jean Valjean stood, drawing out his violin with a smile. "Well, Christine?" **Reference: Hopefully after Populairables this name should be recognizable.**

Grinning, Christine Daaé leapt to her feet and motioned to her family. "Come on!" She raised her voice in a counterpoint to Lacus' melody. **Reference: ...Appears to be some kind of Gundam thing? Don't ask me. Guy was in the scene before I got there.**

Erik, her husband (well, one of them), was quick to join in, pulling an organ from his Pocket. As he sat down and played a few initial chords, Gustave wedged himself beside his papa and set his own fingers to the keys.

"No, thank you," Raoul declined, laughing. "I'll only make a fool of myself." He turned to the man beside him. "Will you be joining in all this, you think?"

"I do not play any instruments, nor do I sing." Javert glared, folding his arms. "Musical Variant be damned, this inspector does _not_ do music."

Meg Giry spun out to an open space. "Hey, everyone, dance-off! Right here, right now!"

* * *

_"Your least favorite punishment Loop."_

"_Twilight_." Raoul groaned. **Reference: Twilight**

"Twilight, dear? Really?" Christine laughed. "But the way you sparkle!"

"If anyone should be the sparkling one, it should be Monsieur Yaourt over there."

"...yogurt?" Erik prodded, his voice tinged with amusement.

"I had to work with a Y. There aren't many words that start with Y, you know. What does that Y stand for, Yzquierdo?" **This is now his official canon last name. (No it isn't.)**

"Still. _Yogurt_. That's the best you could think up, fop?"

"Oh, please, you've used _that_ one for a thousand years now. Can't the genius composer come up with something new and original?"

"Perhaps, if you'd stop being so foppish," Erik said, grinning.

"I have never been anything resembling _foppish_ and you know it!" Raoul snorted. "Honestly, the things you take to in Hub Loops..."

"Hub Loops," Erik grumbled. "Don't remind me."

"Oh, I'd forgotten how much you hate those. I've never understood _why_..."

The Phantom glared hard enough to create a wisp of smoke. "It took me ten Loops – more than a century! – to scrub those songs from my head. Why must twenty-first-century trash be so damned _catchy?"_

* * *

_"Hardest you've derailed a Loop using only a single insult?"_

Christine laughed. "'I'm considering taking voice lessons from Carlotta instead.'"

* * *

_"What kind of stupid answer did anyone either spout out or hear whenever you Looped into a Game Show?"_

"I ran a show once where people had to identify what a song was being played in. It went awfully from the first tune – all the contestants insisted it was in A-flat major when it was clearly C in the Phrygian mode!" Erik tsked. **Reference: Esoteric knowledge of outdated musical standards**

Christine laughed. "Only you, Erik. Only you."

* * *

_"I'm curious as to what everyone's name is when they're in Equestria." _**Reference: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic**

"Crystal Dye," Christine volunteered. "I like it, it's easy enough to remember."

Meg studied her hands. "Bathing Beauty," she mumbled.

"Opera Ghost, at least when I'm not Angel," Erik sighed, "because Yggdrasil is just _so_ imaginative, isn't it?"

* * *

_"How did your Admin best goof up ever on a thing?"_

Meg Giry rolled her eyes. "Something's always been up with our Branch – you'll notice from our backups how we somehow end up with eleven or so years between 1870 and 1910. And no, time shenanigans are not supposed to be a thing with us. One time Achlys tried to fix it, we ended up with a forty-year-long Loop. We thought it was an expansion or something at first, but nope." She snorted. "Growing old was certainly quite the experience. With, of course, the absolute joy of having to tell my aging mother _no_, you're _not_ going to get grandchildren, I'm physically _incapable_ of having them because the world is a computer." **This may sound familiar... ****Inspiration decided later on to expand on the noodle incident.**

* * *

_"Biggest epic fail, go!"_

"This man here tried to calm down an old friend, and she shot me dead," Christine grumbled. "And that was _baseline_."

Erik heaved a dramatic sigh. "Will you _ever_ stop bringing that up?"

"No, because you're a terrible person."

"...True."

* * *

_"How do you solve a maze?"_

"I tend to simply walk through the maze." Erik shrugged. "Of course, I also tend to be the one who built the maze in the first place."

* * *

**Songs with rewritten lyrics**

* * *

Daylight sharpens, heightens each sensation  
Sweeping sands awake imagination  
Silently the senses abandon their defenses

Proudly, fiercely, fire unfurls its splendor  
Grasp it, sense it, become its defender  
Turn away from stone and surrender flesh and bone  
To the flame which shall become your heart's desire  
And listen to the music of the fire

Close your eyes and surrender to your brightest dreams  
Leave all thoughts of the life you knew before  
Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar  
And you'll live as you've never lived before

Strong and swift, the desert shall address you  
Take it, feel it secretly possess you  
Open up your mind, light and you shall be entwined  
In this land of rushing wind and twisted spire  
This land of burning sunlight and of fire

Let your mind start a journey through this strange new world  
Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before  
Let your soul make this where you long to be  
Only then are you of use to me

Flowing, pooling, take the light within you  
Touch it, trust it, blazing brightly in you  
Let your magecraft wake, let the earth inside you break  
Let your heart gaze at the desert and admire  
The power of the music of the fire

You alone can help us not expire  
Help me make the music of the fire

**The full, uncut version of Music of the Fire from waaay back when**

* * *

"Who knows when love beegins  
Who knows what makes it start  
One day it's simply there  
A hive inside your heart

It slips into your thoughts  
It infiltrates your soul  
It takes you bee surprise  
And beezes full control

Try to deny it  
And try to protest  
But bees won't let you go  
Once you've been buzzessed."

Christine spread her arms. A swarm of bees flew out of her black-and-yellow-striped dress and started buzzing in some sort of aerial choreography.

"Bees never die  
Bees never falter  
Once they have spoken  
Bees are yours

Bees never fade  
Bees never alter  
Hives may get broken  
Bees endure  
Hives may get broken  
Bees endure

And soon as you submit  
Surrender flesh and bone  
Those bees take on a life  
Much beegger than your own

They use you at whim  
And sting you to despair  
And they force you to feel  
More joy than you can bear

Honey is pleasure  
And bee stings are pain  
And yet when both are gone  
Bees will still remain

Once they have spoken  
Bees are yours  
Bees never die  
Bees never alter  
Hives may get broken  
Bees endure  
Hives may get broken

Bees never die  
Bees will continue  
Their wings keep on beeating  
When you're gone

Bees never die  
Once they are in you  
Life may bee fleeting  
Bees live on  
Life may bee fleeting  
Bees live on!"  
The bees flew into the audience. A lot of people beegan screaming.

**Bees.**

* * *

"Look at you, deep in debt  
Stinking drunk, pitiful  
Shall we two make a bet?  
Devil take the pot roast"

"Look at you, foul as sin  
Hideous, horrible  
Call the stakes, deal me in  
Devil take the pot roast"

"Our Christine shall choose tonight"

"Let her choose"

"Will she bake or cook?"

"Draw the line"

"If she cooks, you lose tonight"

"I won't lose"

"You leave from here"

"Fine"

"Disappear"

"Fine

And if she bakes, if I win?"

"I will pay for the food"

"Very well, let's begin"

"Devil take the pot roast"

[...]

"In the end"

"And when the cook-off's done"

"Either way"

"Devil take the pot roast"

"Now Christine shall choose at last  
Will she bake or cook?"

"We've a son, our bond's secure"

"Are you sure?"

"What?"

"Are you so sure?"

[...]

"He who wins"

"Once and for all"

"Wins it all

Devil take the pot roast"

"She bakes, you leave together  
Stomachs full, bill paid  
She cooks, you leave alone"

"Devil take the pot roast

Oh my God  
What have I done?  
Look at me  
The cook-off's only hours away"

**Yeah okay I don't even know?**

* * *

"Welcome to my secret lair in the Opera basement  
I hope that you've enjoyed your stay so far  
You see I'm killing your boyfriend Raoul

My appearance is quite disturbing  
But I assure you I'm really in love  
He's insolent, calls me demon  
And he has a way of finding pretty things  
And taking them from me

Oh, and I'm so into you  
But I'm way too cruel for you  
Even this fop here thinks I'm crazy -"

"Hey!"

"I'm not surprised that you agree

If you could find some way to be  
A little bit less afraid of me  
You'd see if you would just love me and abandon Raoul  
Then I wouldn't strangle him

I'm singing while using a Punjab lasso to kill him  
But I get the feeling that you don't like it  
What's with all the screaming?

You like Angels, you like music  
Maybe you don't like murder so much  
Maybe my face is terrifying  
Isn't it enough to know that I'm killing your boyfriend  
When trying to win your heart?"

"No, it really isn't."

"Oh, and I'm so into you  
But I'm way too cruel for you  
Even this fop here thinks I'm crazy -"

"I'm not a fop!"

"I'm not surprised that you agree

If you could find some way to be  
A little bit less afraid of me  
You'd see if you would just love me and abandon Raoul  
Then I wouldn't strangle him

Picture the two of us alone beside my organ by the lake  
While up above the cave my operas are sung and people cheer  
And that damn fool who leads his foolish life can do nothing about it"

"I'm right here, you know."

"Well nothing can matter at all if I don't have you here

You know it isn't easy living here in this Opera basement  
Maybe you could cut me just a little slack"

"Nope, not happening."

"Would it kill you to be civil?

I've been evil, I've been murd'rous  
And a mob is coming this way  
Hear them chanting, my mad attackers  
Maybe you should leave and take your fiancé  
Please think about me and you"

"Leaving sounds like a great idea."

"Oh, and I'm so into you  
But they're coming after me  
The whole world thinks that I'm crazy"

"For good reason!"

"I'm not surprised that you agree

If you could find some way to be  
Keeping me close in memory  
You'd see the theme that's always constant in my melody  
Is Christine, I love you  
Christine, I love you  
Christine, I love you"

**Reference: Skullcrusher Mountain (Jonathan Coulton)**

* * *

**Finished snips that won't go into canon**

* * *

The Phantom hadn't acted as usual upon Raoul leaving, and her Loop memories confirmed his... oddness. Therefore, when he opened the mirror, she went straight for his mask. It came off with a pop, revealing not skin but some white material. His face proceeded to bulge from the hole, and what she had assumed was the Phantom began sliding off like the full-body costume it apparently was. When it fell to the floor, the thing in front of her was a shiny, white, large, humanoid blob with a black shape where eyes tended to go. "Hello," it said, waving. "I am Baymax, your personal healthcare companion." **Reference: Big Hero 6**

Her stare alternated between the thing and its discarded person-shaped clothing, which was completely and utterly disturbing. "I...what?"

* * *

_Knockknockknock_

Meg rolled her eyes and swung the door open. "_Oui_, Maman, we weren't very good tonight, we all _know_. Why don't you share it all at once instead of returning with lecture after lect–" She slammed it shut. Not Maman, then. "Monsieur de Chagny!" she shrieked. "Please do not even come _near_ the chorus girls' changing room after a performance!"

"But Meg, don't you know what day it is?"

"_What?_"

Raoul said nothing.

_Knockknockknock_

"Fine." Meg sighed. "Girls, you have five seconds to get decent or get out of the way."

Upon opening the door again, she actually took the time to look over the vicomte. "Raoul, why are you dressed as a vampire?"

"Trick or treat!"

"Wha... Ah, oui, that American holiday."

"Want to join me?"

"Why?"

He shrugged. "Just to see the looks on people's faces."

"That's as good a reason as any. You want in, everyone?"

.

"Trick or treat!"

"Shoo!" La Carlotta snapped.

They took their time in complying.

.

"Trick or treat!"

Buquet leered. "You want a treat, do you?"

"Moving on," Meg said hurriedly, and they did.

.

"Trick or treat!"

Confused, Christine opened her door to find a vampire, a werewolf, Robespierre, a ghost, a witch that looked suspiciously modeled after a certain diva, Serafimo, a satyr, Hannibal, an elephant head hovering over three pairs of ballet slippers, and a handful of fairies.

"Sorry, what?"

"You treat us or we trick you," one of the youngest explained.

"What if I treat you to a trick?"

"Sure!"

.

His cavern was filled with the chattering of young women. Frowning, the Phantom glanced over at the shore and did a double take. Why were there so many people there? They didn't look angry enough to be a mob. And how could they all fit in that one small boat?

"Trick or treat!" they chorused, the first one stepping out. Some part of his mind distantly recognized her as Christine.

"He doesn't look like he's going to go for the 'treat' option, does he?" she asked.

"Nope!" Meg chirped.

Raoul hefted – was that one of Carlotta's hatboxes? – filled with eggs, flashed a fanged smile, and lobbed one at the Phantom's precious organ. The chorus girls tittered at the menace made mundane. "There's plenty to go around. Amuse yourselves."

.

"Trick or treat!"

Madame Giry folded her arms and glared down her nose at the group of girls, who collectively shrank in on themselves. "After a show, you either rehearse to correct your mistakes or you go to sleep. How many times have we discussed this? And you most certainly do _not_ cannibalize costumes and parade around the Opera for God only knows what reasons. Am I clear?" She was met with a cowed chorus of 'Oui, Madame's. "_Bon_. Since you're all up, you might as well run through the routine and hope you aren't quite as terrible as you were this eve–"

Raoul plummeted from the ceiling to dangle by the noose around his neck. Just as the horror was beginning to set in, he slipped out of the rope, dropped the remaining foot or so, and held out a skull-sealed paper with a grin. "Note for you, Madame."

She snatched it and unfolded it. The words inside made her frown. "Trick or treat." **Was going to go into chapter 15, but...eh  
**

* * *

"Insolent boy  
This slave of fashion  
Basking in your glory

Ignorant fool  
This brave young suitor  
Sharing in my triumph!" The voice echoed about the room.

"Angel, I love him," Christine tried,  
"Have since childhood  
He's charming and kind, and handsome

But Angel, I won't  
Let that distract me  
From your great genius"  
Establishing her relationship with Raoul, yet soothing his anger with a compliment. She could only hope it would work.

"Flattering child, you shall know me -" The same words, but faltering slightly.  
"See why in shadow I hide  
Look at your face in the mirror  
I am there inside..."

"Angel of Music  
Guide and guardian  
Grant to me your glory

Angel of Music  
Hide no longer  
Come to me, strange Angel!"

"I am your Angel of Music  
Come to me, Angel of Music..."

Playing her part, Christine began to walk forward until Raoul gave her cue.

"Whose is that voice? Who is that in there?"

"Raoul!" She spun around to face the door.

"Christine," the Phantom warned.

She hesitated. "Raoul, my Angel of Music is here. You're interrupting a - a lesson. Can't you come back tomorrow?"

"Of - of course," he replied. The sound of his footsteps faded slowly away.

Turning back to the mirror, she expressed shock to see it open, the black-gloved hand of a masked man held out to her. "Angel?"

He nodded, and she took his hand. This time, their journey down was filled with silence.

.

"Let the dream begin  
Let your darker side give in  
To the power of the music that I write  
The power of the music of the night..." He unveiled his wedding-ready figure of her (in all her years circling this time, it had never become less unnerving), but she neither fainted nor pretended to do so. Instead, she slapped him.

At least, she had intended it to be only a slap.

"Damn you!  
You little prying Pandora!  
You little demon!" the Phantom roared, clapping a hand to his bare face.  
"Is this what you wanted to see?  
Curse you!  
You little lying Delilah!"

She shrank away as he continued to rage at her, scrambling madly for a way to fix this. She hadn't meant to take off his mask at all, not this time. She had been establishing borders, telling him that he was her music teacher and not her lover, that showing someone a life-size doll of them in a wedding dress will not win you their affections and is in fact something you should never do, ever. But then she smacked off his mask.

When the Phantom had calmed down enough, she extended the mask to him. Her hand shook, but her face smiled ever so slightly. "Your voice is still heavenly, even if your face isn't." Even if your face isn't? God, wasn't she trying to calm him down? Thankfully, he didn't seem outwardly bothered.

"You think so?" His gaze met hers, tentative, hurt, reserved. "Why did you hit me, then?"

She raised an eyebrow. "You don't think it's the slightest bit creepy to have a model of your student in a wedding dress?"

"But I love you, Christine."

Like that was news to her. Eyes widening, she took a step back. "You do?"

"Yes!" the Phantom cried. "'Since the moment I first heard you sing', yes, I have!"

"So that's what you meant," Christine breathed. "I love you too, but not like that - you're my Angel, my mentor, my closest companion -" and the father of her child, but he didn't need to know that.

He looked at her, and his eyes shone with tears. "Christine..."

She darted in for a gentle embrace. "I only learned you were a man just tonight. I need to think," and he nodded against her back.

As she pulled away, she let out a large yawn. If it sounded fake, the Phantom either didn't notice or didn't care. "Do you have a bed I can use?"

.

The next morning, she strode to him as she had in baseline. "I remember there was mist,  
Swirling mist upon a vast glassy lake  
There were candles all around  
And on the lake there was a boat  
And in the boat there was a man

And he was my Angel of Music  
And I saw the face in the mask..."

She was rewarded as he turned to her, smiling sadly. "You remember that, do you?"

Her expression mirrored his. "I don't mind. Nobody's perfect, not even an Angel."

His laugh was curt. "That's certainly true."

"I liked the music you were playing when I woke up. Did you write it?"

His soft smile seemed brighter. "Yes, I'm writing an opera. You, Christine, will play the lead."

She grinned. "No, I couldn't."

"And why not?"

"Carlotta would have a fit!"

He chuckled. "This won't be ready for months. She should be used to it by then."

"How so?"

"I'll pull a few strings." Or make a few threats, both added silently. He stood and offered his hand. "Come, we must return. Those two fools who run my theatre will be missing you."

She took it, and they walked together to the boat. "So will Raoul."

"Yes, I'm sure." The laughter was gone from his voice.

"...Will I see you again tonight?"

"Certainly!" And it was back again. **Abandoned since December 2014. I don't know, I just don't like most of it.**

* * *

"Happy New Year!" Christine cheered, and both Erik and Raoul leaned in for a kiss. She stepped back and they kissed each other, and she laughed at them as they froze and ran away.

"Mom, why did two guys kiss?" Gustave asked.

"Because it's funny," she replied.

Meg laughed too.

"Meg, you're not Looping yet, go away," Christine complained.

"The Infinite Loops are anachronistic, so shut up," Meg quipped.

"I like monkeys," Gustave shared.

"That's nice, dear," Christine told him. "Now. More booze!" **Originally written New Years 2015 in Google Translate French.**

* * *

**Unfinished snips that won't go into canon**

* * *

"...so I'm still not entirely sure why he's marrying a pony, but people seem to be excited about it."

Meg carefully balanced her current drink atop her previous one. "As a matter of fact, I recently attended a wedding myself."

Raoul's eyebrow quirked. "Really? Whose?"

"You know them. Guess."

"Gustave?"

"No, but that would really be something."

Leaning back on the bar, he waved his glass in the air. "Oh, I expect it sooner or later. He's far older now than I was, certainly." He took a sip –

"True enough. Maybe he will find a horse of his own one day."

– and promptly launched into a coughing fit. "You," he managed to say after a time, but couldn't think of an adequate continuation. He made up for it by repeating an emphatic, "_You_."

"Thanks. I try," she replied with a grin. "Anyway, it's Christine and Erik who got married."

"Is it now."

"They said it was a good opportunity for it, but I'm of the opinion that she just liked how the non-disfigured young-adult him cleaned up." Meg chuckled.

"Tell me more."

"I could, but..." She shrugged. "Why don't you just ask them?"

.

Christine fiddled with the piano. "How does that sound?"

"Good, though a tad repetitive." Leaning over, Erik rearranged her fingers on the keys. "Perhaps the second time through that phrase, you could try _this_ instead of _that_."

She played through the sequence and grinned. "Yes, that works. Thank you."

"But of course."

There was a knock at the door. "Come in," she called, shifting to an old, familiar song. _F-G-A flat, A flat-G-B flat, E natural-F-G, A flat-G-F..._

"Why didn't you tell me you were married?" Raoul demanded as he strode in.

"I wasn't aware I was required to, or that you even wanted to hear it. Besides, I don't tell Erik every time you and I marry." The man beside her bristled. "And now you see why. You two _still_ –"

"Look at you newlyweds!" Raoul growled, and Christine kept a smile from her face as he picked up on her tune. Maybe, once they just let it all out, they could find the way through.  
"(Haaaalp words)  
What went through your damn heads?  
With whom are you entwined most?" (Ehhh wordssss)

Erik was quick to respond, as was Christine. "Look at you, ?

?  
?" he demanded.

Her voice rose above his. "Melodies return to us  
Recall who once we were  
Memories still burn for us  
Oh, don't they now, Messieurs?"

They turned to look at her.

"It's something I've noticed," she said. "We sing

_foundation_ actual words  
Ordered Lyrics

R: Look at you newlyweds / _Stinking drunk, pitiful /_

R: What went through your damn heads? / With whom are you entwined most?

E: _Look at you, foul as sin / Hideous, horrible /  
_C: Melodies return to us / Recall who once we were /

E: _Call the stakes, deal me in / Devil take the hindmost  
_C: Memories still burn for us / Oh, Don't they now, Messieurs?

*talking*

C: Think of all the things / We've shared and seen /

C: And think of what our love / Will always mean

R: _Our Christine shall choose tonight / Is she yours or mine?_ /  
C: _Think of me / Think of me fondly_ /

R: _If she sings, you lose tonight / You leave from here / Disappear  
_C: _When we said goodbye_

C: _Remember me / Every so often / Promise me you'll try_  
E: _Insolent boy / This slave of fashion / Basking in your glory_

**There was like a week in October where I was convinced that having the three of them admit they were in a poly relationship and were cool with it _required_ a Big Dramatic Moment. Therefore, Christine _purposefully_ riles up the old feud through music, then they talk things through in song (specifically, song written for three singers and piano, including many POTO/LND melodies as well as some original ones). Long story short, there was no reason for the Big Dramatic Moment to be so dramatic, five-part compositions are a pain, and (spoiler alert) I established the poly pretty well in a concise snip that will be appearing next chapter.**

**On a side note, the "music influences emotions" line of thinking branched off into My Heart Heard Music, where I could focus more on worldbuilding around the idea. Been meaning to update that. Also been meaning to update this. (This doesn't count as an update.) Trouble is, I've only got like nineteen hundred words, which isn't enough...blarg. Fingers crossed.**

* * *

Populairables: What Could Have Been

(Some of these were different courses for the story. Others have been mentioned in-story, but were not actually included as scenes.)

\- Erik checks out the future Opera location (Boulevard des Capucines), discovers that the closest thing to a lake is high levels of groundwater (probably some sort of underground offshoot of the Seine or something), and whines about it (was originally intending to move in there, also to make awesome secret Amis meeting spot)

\- The Piangis come to Paris; Carlotta, being unknown and too old for the chorus, is rejected from the Salle Le Peletier. Erik points and laughs, then ignores them. Ubaldo Piangi tries and fails to lead a life of crime. (Winter 1829/1830, T minus 2.5 years)

\- Christine and Erik attempt to meet in secret at the Rue Plumet, but are caught soon enough by Valjean. Now that they're officially dating, Christine occasionally attends Amis meetings. (Spring 1830, T minus 2.25 years)

\- Meg runs into the Piangis on the streets, which makes things a bit more complicated (Fall 1830, T minus 1.75 years)

\- Erik being nicknamed the Angel of Music

\- Erik and Christine are with Valjean during Valjean/Chagny confrontation at barricade

Erik: can I have the honors?  
Christine: oh Erik erik erik *sigh*  
Valjean: no Erik we're letting him go  
Erik: *disappointed* whaaaat but but  
Chagny: *disbelieving* whaaaat but but  
Christine: be careful Jean we don't want to break him

\- Enjolras and the gang come with Meg &amp; Valjean for funeral purposes. The barricade falls in their absence, and they are very annoyed at said Meg &amp; Valjean.

\- Azelma joins rebellion

\- Meg and Azelma weren't taken in

\- Meg didn't Wake Up

\- Raoul did Wake Up

\- Erik didn't Wake Up

\- Meg was Fantine

\- Erik was Valjean

\- Erik was Javert

\- Raoul was Valjean

\- Raoul was Marius

\- Erik was Enjolras

\- Christine gave Marius to Unawake Meg/Eponine (to get him out of Erik's way)

\- They won the revolution (mainly by burning down any and all opposition)

* * *

**Alternate Activation/Speech snips**

* * *

In the caverns below the operahouse, Madame Giry's voice echoed. "Christine Daae could sing it, sir." And Erik's life began again. He knew the next events like the back of his hand: she would sing, she would impress them, she would get the part. What, a chorus girl? Don't be silly. She has been taking lessons from a great teacher. (Himself, of course.) Who?

Silence.

Why silence? It always began the same way. Eleven times she told Andre she didn't know her teacher's name. Why not the twelfth?

After an agonizingly long pause, Christine mumbled out, "I - I don't know -"

"Let her sing for you, Monsieur. She has been well taught." And back to the script.

Christine did manage to sing for Andre and Firmin, although her voice quavered on some of the notes. Erik frowned. What had happened? Why had the unexpected occurred? He would talk to her about that tonight.

Erik was standing behind the mirror when she entered her room. "Your Angel is here, Christine."

"Clearly..." She looked into the mirror, her eyes meeting his by what must have been chance. Then she added, "But you're no angel," and slid the barrier between them away.

What was this madness? "I - I don't," he stammered, all composure lost.

Her eyes narrowed in thought. "But one's died, not yet...but neither has love." The words became lyrics that were very familiar to Erik. After all, he'd written them - over ten years in the future. "It uses you at whim, and drives you to despair, and forces you to feel more love than you can bear..."

His eyes wide and his voice trembling, he asked, "Where did you hear that song?"

A pained smile flitted across her face. "Actually, I sang it. On Coney Island. It was written by a...Mr. Y, I believe?"

"I-is that so?" Could this possibly be true? "Who did you travel there with?" he tried.

"Raoul, our new patron, and -"

"Gustave?"

"Yes, how did you -"

"Our son?"

She stared at him. "Are you really - no one else remembered - I'm not crazy!" Her sigh of relief turned into a gasp as Erik swept her into a tight embrace.

"I'm not alone," he muttered. "Not anymore. And I have you." **Erik as Anchor**

* * *

Christine was dead, she was dead, Meg shot her, she was dead...

Erik blinked away tears. Words were coming from above: "Christine Daae could sing it, sir." The voice was Antoinette Giry's - she had witnessed Christine's death, how could she think -

He became aware of his surroundings. The lake. The piano. The music box. The mirrors reflecting the man he was nearly eleven years ago.

He hadn't been paying attention to the conversation, but then Christine - Christine, by some miracle - began singing. "Think of me, think of me fondly when we've said goodbye..." and it hit him.

This was Christine's Gala. The day Lefevre left for Australia, leaving the Opera Populaire in the hands of those two. The day Raoul metChristine.

Was...was he being given a second chance?

There was so much to fix. Where could he start? What went wrong? He thought backwards. Meg killed Christine because she was upset and jealous. Raoul became a drunkard and gambled away his fortune. Of course he did. The Opera Populaire burnt down. He killed too many, too visibly, and Antoinette betrayed his location. Andre and Fermin bought the Opera and made everything more difficult. Christine grew to hate him...to some extent, at least. Christine fell in love with Raoul.

Well. There was something he could do about that.

After the Gala, he waited behind the mirror for Christine and Meg to come in. He would speak to both of them, offer his services to Meg, enter the room with a flourish and a bow. This way, he would reveal himself to Christine before Raoul had a chance; this way, perhaps vocal training would make Meg feel less left out.

The door opened. Two young women walked in, holding a subdued conversation. One was Christine. The other wasn't Meg. As he stared at her, the memories rushed in: Renee Giry, only daughter of Antoinette the dance instructor. Christine's friend since the beginning. And yet...shouldn't that be Meg?

"I just don't know what to do about him, Ren." Christine admitted. "He may do horrible, horrible things, but it almost seems like he doesn't want to. You should've heard him. He switches between near-psychopathic and I'm-so-horrible-everyone-hates-me-myself-included-my-life-sucks. I've been trying to help him somehow, and sometimes I can make progress. Sometimes nobody dies, which is nice. But then the Loop ends and it's all been erased. And Ren, this is my nineteenth Loop and no one else has ever been Awake, unless you count Loopers from other universes. Is that unusual? I don't know."

Renee shrugged. "Don't ask me. This is my first...Fused Loop, you said?"

Christine nodded. "You know what? I'm not even going to bother trying to take this one seriously. Let's see what happens."

Hidden behind the mirror, Erik stared bewildered at the pair. What was a Loop? How did you fuse one? What did they mean, other universes? Where was Meg?

And who were they talking about?

Christine's head snapped over to the mirror as he belatedly realized he had mumbled his questions aloud. Grinning, her words transitioned into song. "Wait. I think, my dear, we have a guest!" She strode over to it, slid it aside, and curtsied to the dumbfounded Erik. "Sir, this is indeed an unparalleled delight."

He knew those words. "I had rather hoped that you would come," he sang disbelievingly, his voice trembling. "And now, my wish comes true. You have truly made my night."

She stared at him. "You - know that? I was just -" She sang again. "Love never dies, love never falters..."

"Once it has spoken, love is -" The words caught in his throat. "You...came back here too? To now? I thought I was -"

A wry smile passed over her face. "If only. Erik, we're looping through time. Starts today, ends -" She grimaced. "I think you know when it ends. There's a long explanation involving a tree that I don't quite understand, but I'm sure we don't really need to. This won't be ending anytime soon. Trust me. I've lived nearly 200 years through this, I'm fairly sure I know what I'm talking about."

Erik gaped. What...?

"I have the feeling I should probably leave." Renee awkwardly headed out the door, shutting it behind her. Almost as soon as it closed, it swung open again. "I think loverboy's here to see you, Christine."

Her brow furrowed. "Is he now?"

"See for yourself. I'm going to bed." And Raoul came in.

"Christine!" he smiled. "You were amazing tonight."

She hesitated. "...Raoul?"

"Ye -" His eyes fell on Erik. "Who is this?"

"My voice instructor. He deserved the credit for tonight if anyone does."

"Is that so? Well then, sir, you did well."

"Thank you," Erik found himself saying. "Although Christine is too modest."

"I'm sure." Raoul returned his gaze to Christine. "If you're free sometime..."

"I'll let you know."

He smiled, and closed the door behind him. **Renee, from _The Incrementalists_**

* * *

"Listen -"

"I'm -"

"Sorry -"

"It -"

"Was -"

"A -"

"Long -"

"Time -"

"Ago -"

"For -"

"Me -"

"Please -"

"Stop -"

"You -"

"Two -"

"Make -"

"A -"

"Very -"

"Cute -"

"Couple -"

"When -"

"You're -"

"Not -"

"Trying -"

"To -"

"_KILL_ -"

"_ME!_"

"Shut the hell up!"

"Dammit Raoul!" Christine snatched the knife from his hands. "No killing! Bad!" **Alternate Raoul Awakening. Very OOC, because _he's_ not the murderous type even _if_ Erik was the bane of his existence in baseline.**

* * *

"Think of me, think of me fondly, when we sai -"

Christine was cut off mid-word by a door slamming open. Everyone present - including Erik, as this was a minor Variant Loop - watched bewildered as their new patron stormed in.

"What the hell is going on?" Raoul roared. Seeing the conspicuous masked man in the room, he turned on him. "You! What did you do, you ba -" He spied Christine, a look of concern on her face. "Oh, damn it all." He stalked back out, leaving most to stare confusedly after him and two Loopers to exchange knowing glances.

Later, Erik and Christine waited in her room for the new Looper to barge in. They were not disappointed, although in hindsight they should have expected the drink in his hand.

"I had forgotten about that...problem he had the first time," Christine muttered.

"This isn't going to go well, is it?"

"Nope." She turned to Raoul, who was currently glaring at both of them. "So. You made a bet with /him/ -" she jerked her head to Erik - "to determine who got me. Good job considering what I want. I mean, you could have at least _told_ me."

"Well, ish not like you were gon' choosh 'tween ush anytime shoon." The mostly-full glass he held clearly wasn't his first. "Y'only married me 'caush a mob came after him! We hadta figure it out shomehow. _Shpeakin_ of whisch, why aren't you mad at 'im, too?"

"I was. Over a century ago. Time passes, Raoul, and you forgive people. But it's only been a day for you - I think I'm justified if I'm still annoyed in your case," she snapped, then deflated. "God, this isn't how I wanted this to go at _all_..." She cradled her head in her hands. "Erik, you're taking it from here."

"Fine." Erik glanced at the drunk Looper. "We're looping through time. Christine's been in at least thirty, I've lived through it eleven times, this is apparently your first time back. Not everyone is in every Loop, even once they start looping. Sometimes magic happens. Sometimes technology happens. Sometimes other things happen." He switched to falsetto. "And even if you try to stoppa these things from 'appening, _zis_ thing _will_ 'appen!" He smirked briefly. "Now go somewhere else and sleep off the alcohol. Think for a while. If you come back, see if you can act more like you used to. But less foppy and less prejudiced against men in masks." As Raoul stumbled towards the door, Erik stopped him again. "No going to bars. You're not an alcoholic, not yet, and that isn't a habit you want to make."

A few minutes after Raoul left, Christine glanced up. "I appreciated your Carlotta impression, but you forgot to mention Yggdrasil."

"Oh, the tree can go to hell." **Alternate Raoul Awakening, with him coming after Erik and generally not making a good impression. Too bashy for my taste.**

* * *

**Unfinished snips that _would_ go in canon except my muse hates me**

**If I ever do manage to finish them, they'll go up in a real chapter and be taken down from here... I'm just not sure that will ever happen.**

**It's also bonus behind-the-scenes because it's like a cross-section of my writing process.**

* * *

The Phantom left his gondola and immediately began not singing about the seat of sweet music's throne. Christine wondered at that - she hadn't yet deviated from baseline - but ultimately let it slide. He reached out his hand to her; she took it and stepped from the boat onto the shore.

"This is the dungeon of my black despair," he said.

She blinked, certain that those words weren't supposed to be said for months (and, if she had her way, wouldn't happen at all). "Is that so?"

"Join me," he intoned. "Surrender to your darkest dreams."

Okay, maybe this was just a minor variant where he didn't sing quite so often. "All right," she agreed. **Phantom is emo.** **Abandoned since August 2015.**

* * *

Christine glanced at the closed door yet again. Raoul was supposed to come in now, so why wasn't he? Even if he were Awake, he had no reason to avoid her.

"Christine." There he was! Yet his voice wasn't coming from the door; in fact, it seemed to echo around the room, as if...wait...

The mirror slid open to reveal Raoul in a half-mask. "It seems I'm him and he's me. What now?"

She frowned. "In that case, shouldn't he be here right now singing about Little Lotte?"

"Maybe." Raoul shrugged. "I don't pretend to know his mind at the best of times."

Christine did a brief mental check. "No, I don't have any childhood memories of him. In fact..." She let out an incredulous laugh. "At the point where I usually tell Meg about you, I didn't. Meg told me about him!" She grinned. "He used to come to the opera, and they would meet backstage afterwards and run around together. Isn't that absolutely adorable?"

Raoul perked up. "So he won't come between us this time?"

"Only if he's Awake, too. There was only the one Ping - obviously yours - so he probably isn't, in which case it's the exact opposite situation. Oh, we _have_ to make sure they meet again!" she squealed.

"Why did they part in the first place?"

"I think his family went traveling or something." She shrugged. "But how are we going to do this? It's not like she's a rising star, he won't show up at her dressing room - we can't expect things to happen like baseline did for the two of us."

"She could be, if _only_ one of us were a mysterious figure known for using notes to make demands..."

"Oh, right." She giggled.

.

_Monsieur Gilles Andre,_

_The gala was spectacular. My compliments to everyone. While it was unfortunate that Carlotta refused to perform, Christine rose to the occasion admirably, even surpassing our prima donna. I believe she will continue to excel if given further opportunities. However, I would strongly suggest having Meg Giry take her place as Serafimo in the new production of Il Muto. As I am Christine's tutor, you must admit I have good taste, no? Meg will be a superb Serafimo, I assure you._

_\- O.G._

_Monsieur Richard Firmin,_

_My 'salary' has yet to be paid. This is understandable, as you surely see me as some shady figure demanding large sums for no good reason. M. Lefevre and I did not have the best of relationships, but I fervently hope that the new management will be more open to the suggestions of this humble Opera Ghost. Perhaps we should meet again to discuss this further._

_\- O.G._

_Monsieur le Vicomte Erik de Chagny,_

_The Phantom of the Opera invites his new patron to enjoy the first performance of Il Muto. One may naturally assume your attendance, but there should be a pleasant surprise waiting for you onstage._

_\- O.G._

_Mademoiselle Meg Giry,_

_I hope you appreciate your new role._

_\- O.G._

_Madame Carlotta Giudicelli,_

_Yesterday's mishap was quite unfortunate. I wish you the best of luck in your future performances._

_\- O.G._

Christine looked over the letters and mock-frowned. "These don't seem like the kind of notes a proper Phantom would send."

"Oh? What's wrong?"

"They don't rhyme." She laughed at his affected air of shame as he fell to his knees.

"My brain doesn't think in verse," he said by way of explanation. "Can you ever forgive me?"

She sat down beside him, adjusted her skirts, and gave him a peck on the cheek. "Only if you promise that everything will be perfect for us this Loop."  
"It will," he swore, and the delivery of the notes was somewhat delayed.

.

"But Andre, have you seen the queue?"

"This is madness, through and through," Andre growled in the absence of the typical mysterious notes.

"Bonjour, messieurs." Raoul strode up to them in the least dramatic outfit he had been able to find. _Capes, bah_. He offered them a pair of letters, which they took uncertainly. "I am Raoul... Raoul le Fantome," he decided. Well, it was as good a last name as any. "I trust Madame Giry gave you my first note?"

Eyes were narrowed. "That was you?" Andre demanded.

He nodded. "In hindsight, I realize it may have sounded a bit pompous."

"A bit?" Firmin raised an eyebrow.

"Monsieur Lefevre... did not particularly care for a reclusive mystery man in the basement, nor I him. By the end of it, I _may_ have begun resorting to dramatics and threats." He sighed. "That was a poor decision, and one I deeply regret. He was just so _insufferable_ \- although I'm quite sure he thought the same of me." A wry smile crossed his face. He had no intention of acting remotely like his Unawake Phantom-self, and this was a simple enough explanation. His story might not be the truth, but unlike the truth, they should actually believe it. "Suffice it to say that I am fully anticipating an improvement in this new era of the Populaire. Christine has returned to her room, if you were wondering about her. I would like to continue this conversation, but I understand this may not be the best time...?"

"It is a bit hectic right now," Firmin agreed.

"Certainly. If you'd like to arrange a meeting to discuss this further, send a note by way of Madame Giry. I'll leave you two to your own business now; I'm sure you have plenty to do." In less-than-perfect Phantom fashion, Raoul completely neglected to slip into the shadows and instead strode away like a normal person. He had a few more notes to deliver.

.

Meg had indeed been cast as Serafimo, which was good enough for Raoul's purposes. He didn't need to force her into the lead, only to find her an important enough role for her to be noticeable onstage. The titular mute was definitely sufficient. When the show was over, Raoul found he appreciated the Phantom's network of secret passages. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to see this firsthand.

"Bonsoir, Meg."

She spun around, startled by the visitor. "Erik!"

(Erik/Meg aftershow meeting, is adorable)

"I told you this would be a good idea," Christine murmured.

Raoul chuckled. "I can't deny that."

(More adorable Erik/Meg)

(At end, Erik gets note)

_Monsieur le Vicomte,_

_I take the liberty of writing to you because I would request your assistance. I have been composing an opera for some time, one_ Don Juan Triomphant._ If you lent your own talents to my endeavor, I would be greatly in your debt._

_Please accept, Monsieur, the assurances of my highest consideration,_

_Raoul le Fantome_

.

(Other things)

.

"Conquest is assured  
If I do not forget myself and laugh!"

Raoul waited just offstage as Piangi exited on closing night. The larger Don Juan looked him in the eyes and extended a hand, which the smaller shook with gratitude.

"Good luck, Monsieur le Fantome."

"Thank you. I'll need it."

With that, he left altogether, presumably returning to his dressing room, and Raoul smiled. It hadn't been too hard to sway Piangi to his side in this endeavor; as a happily married man, he understood Raoul's plan very well.

Raoul stepped onstage. Only his music-filled Loop memories could save him now.

"Master?"

"Passarino  
Go away  
For the trap is set and waits for its prey

You have come here  
In pursuit of your deepest urge  
In pursuit of that wish which 'til now has been silent  
Silent"

Christine stared at him, and he marginally shook his head. _No, no one was killed, don't worry_, he meant, and she seemed to understand just fine.

"I have brought you  
That our passions may fuse and merge  
In your mind you've already succumbed to me  
Dropped all defenses, completely succumbed to me  
Now you are here with me  
No second thoughts  
You've decided  
Decided"

Raoul snuck a glance at the audience, and that was his mistake. _I'm not a show person, dammit!_ He froze up, and it was Christine's turn for a flash of reassuring smile.

Recovering hastily, he resumed singing, albeit a bit shakily.

"Past the point of no return..."

.

"The bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn  
We've passed the point of no return"

Raoul took a deep breath, trying to calm his pounding heart. _I can do this. It will be something my Phantom persona would do, it will be romantic, and it will go absolutely _perfectly_ because I won't be able to do it if I don't keep telling myself that._ His fingers slipped into his pocket and closed on what they found. _It's there, thank the heavens._

"Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime  
Say the word and I will follow you  
Say you want me with you  
Here, beside you  
Anywhere you go, let me go too"

Falling to one knee, Raoul whipped out the box and opened it, the diamond ring gleaming for all to see. Her face split open in a stunned smile, beaming in astonishment and joy. Oh thank god.

"Christine, that's all I ask of -"

"Yes," she breathed, before pulling him up and into a deep kiss.

The audience gave them a standing ovation. Their managers gave them a vaguely passive-aggressive congratulation (they had interrupted the show, after all).

.

"Raoul, I'm pregnant."

"Gustave -" The implications hit him immediately. "That can't be right. Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Yes!"

"You haven't -"

Christine shook her head. "Even if I did want to, which I don't, this Erik has absolutely no interest in me. Not that way. If it's anyone's, it's yours."

"But how did -"

"I don't know!"

"You're absolutely sure it was him originally?"

"I was, in baseline, but in hindsight there wasn't really any way to know for sure. That first Loop, though - I never even _saw_ you, so it must have -" Her eyes widened. "But...in baseline, there wasn't really any way of knowing, was there? I jumped to a conclusion that made so much sense at the time but that didn't mean it was true.

(Words words words)

.

"So," Raoul concluded, throwing a smirk Erik's way, "I'm fairly sure that makes me best Phantom."

Failing to hide a smile, Christine shook her head. "Don't use Internet slang, dear. It doesn't suit you."

.

"Ah Christine  
My Christine  
In that time when the world thought me wed  
Ah Christine  
On that night just before you were dead -"

**Abandoned since June 2015. Started in July 2014. If you go back and look at the fifth ever review on this fic, you'll notice a case of great minds thinking alike (or is it a case of fools rarely differing?)**

* * *

**...There was also _going_ to be something abandoned since May 2014 (hey, that's longer than this fic's been around!) but good news is it's probably going to be finished in time for the next chapter.**

* * *

**April Fools for posterity: Everything was Google-translated into French, except for the update, which was a single short snip genuinely written in French, dialogue conventions and all. Its translation can be found below. It is the one thing in this chapter that is definitively canon.**

**Looking at the traffic stats, there seems to have been a person who actually read five whole chapters of Google Translate French. Good sir or madam or none of the above, I applaud you.**

* * *

Christine rolled her eyes. « Yes, Erik, I know you think yourself clever, but this ? This is really a very childish silly thing. »  
Erik shrugged and replied : « Maybe. You have to admit that it's funny even so, no ?  
— Ah yes, because attaching paper fish to people's backs, it's very mature. I would expect this of Gustave, or even Meg ... You, I expected better, she reprimanded, even though she fought off a smile.  
— But Christine, it's traditional. It's a harmless joke that hurts no one.  
— No one but Carlotta's ego ! she said in laughter. »  
Erik grinned. « See, you admit that it's funny.  
— Yes, yes, childish, immature and funny nonetheless, Christine said. Have fun.  
— I will do that ! »  
Shaking her head, Christine left. But she didn't notice the fish on her own back.  
« Happy Fish of April ! » Erik called.


	18. A Change in Perspective

We're so used to focusing on the Loopers and their actions. Nonloopers are merely static. But even though they reset every Loop, they still do have their own stories.

* * *

2.2

In her childhood, she'd picked a vaseful of flowers. She hadn't questioned the half-wilted bloom that had vanished from the vase by the time she went to admire it the next day. She hadn't questioned its sprouting from the floor, or the way the vase was knotted to the table by a tangle of roots in a web that would eventually stretch across the Opèra. She hadn't questioned its ability to pop down and pop up anywhere along its root system, or its power of speech, or its name. Only to herself, and only briefly, had she questioned its interest in music.

Of course she hadn't questioned the flower's falling for a human girl (one of her dancers). She was Opèra born and bred, familiar with the stories down to the word; if anything, this was what grounded the whole affair in her mind. Especially when she overheard the girl discussing the young vicomte.

And when Mme Antoinette Giry found the flower named Erik shedding petals all over her chambers, she had a feeling she knew what had happened.

"Christine left you, didn't she?"

"Yes," it agreed, turning its head to face her. "She looked at me and rolled her eyes and walked away."

"For our new patron?"

Evidently it had not fully realized that possibility, for nearly all of its remaining petals dropped at once. "Presumably," it muttered mouthless.

Antoinette tsked. "She is a flighty young woman, after all."

"Yes, and I'm a _flower_."

This was one way in which the story didn't quite match: the magical lovers in fiction rarely disliked themselves as Erik did. There was the other difference that they usually could transform themselves into humans, but that might just as well be for the sake of performance.

"Come now," she told it, "it'll be all right. Have some water, you'll feel better." She strode out and returned with a brimming glass. When she poured it, she was careful to do so slowly, so it would be absorbed as it reached the plant instead of spreading all over the floor. She'd learned the hard way that haste left her chambers unpleasantly damp for hours.

"Thank you," Erik said.

She gave the smile that it could not. "Of course."

* * *

1.1

Tonight was the third showing of _Les Contes d'Hoffmann_, and the Opéra Populaire's prima ballerina really should have been warming up, not wandering the building, but there she was.

Tonight also marked a full decade since her friend had vanished with no trace. Sometimes she thought her mother knew something about it, but it would do no good asking. The reason why she even suspected it was because Christine's disappearance was one of those topics Maman held knowing silences on.

Ten years to the day. Of course her mind was returning to the girl she had known. She was probably only imagining it...and yet...

La Marguerite was _certain_ she could hear Christine's laugh.

Its echo led her down a hallway until it seemed to be coming right from the other side of the wall. But she'd checked that room already...

The soft peals gave way to murmuring, broken by a boy's giggle. And when Meg put her ear to the wall, her eyes picked out a crack in it, around shoulder-high, through which faint candlelight flickered. Not daring to breathe, she leaned close and glimpsed what lay _within_ the wall: a woman in pink skirts, her head out of view but brown curls tumbling down, holding a candle and the hand of a young boy with a wide grin—nine, maybe—who was the spitting image of his mother.

_Nine, maybe_. Add nine months and you had about ten years.

Did that mean... and she remembered a time when the only thing Maman kept secret was whatever she knew about the enigmatic Phantom, and the pieces were falling into place...

Meg straightened, smoothed her skirts, and walked away. Christine had made her choice long ago, and it seemed to have worked out well enough; who was she to interfere? It was reassuring, after all these years, to know what had become of her friend, and that would be enough.

"Meg?"

She paused. "Christine?"

The words rang out like crystal, reverberating like the Phantom's voice. Evidently Christine had picked up a few tricks over the years. "You should come by sometime. Your mother knows the way."

"Thank you." Meg smiled without turning around. "I'll try."

"A friendship can really change after ten years. I wish... I'd like that change to be for the better."

"It already is, I think." She resumed walking, brisk because she really should have started warming up half an hour ago and there was not enough time before the performance started.

"Break a leg!" piped the high voice of a child.

"I will, but it won't be mine," Meg called over her shoulder. Rewarded by a chuckle and a snicker, she rushed off to backstage in a warm glow. She had stretches to perform, ballets to dance, and an audience to please.

* * *

I didn't write as much as I wanted this past year, but I'm not quite dead! (School and mental issues make for a poor combination, unfortunately.) Love you all, and here's to another year!


End file.
